The Shadow Knight and the Storm Queen
by WeWriteAtMidnight
Summary: The rainforest planet of Terrahi is a point of prosperity in the Outer Rim and the seat of an ancient, respected dynasty. The king, as he lays dying, boasts three heirs to his crown, kept carefully from the First Order's wide reach. But even elite guards make mistakes, and that mistake, allowing Ben Solo to meet the crown princess, was one Westerly nor Kylo Ren will ever forget.
1. Chapter 1

_A long time ago, in a galaxy far, far away…_

 _Pushed back to their territories in the UNKNOWN REGIONS, the FIRST ORDER makes plans to strike again, launching propaganda campaigns on many of their host planets to bolster support. After visiting TERRAHI, a rainforest planet under KING SAORONYU's rule, GENERAL HUX returns with dire news: the King has fallen deathly ill._

 _His three daughters remain in hiding and, without a direct heir, the late king's nephew is poised to take the crown with promises to push the First Order off their planet._

* * *

"Dead?" The Supreme Leader looked annoyed. General Hux maintained eye contact.

"I'm afraid so, Supreme Leader," he replied. "The investigation team and the Aristophani police report are in agreement; Princess Alomina was murdered. We suspect Santall's supporters."

"And the others?"

"The youngest is still in Coruscant. She appears to have joined the rebellion. We have withdrawn the majority of our spies and placed them on a sweep to find the King's oldest daughter, but it's been three days and we have had no results. We need to try interrogating Saoronyu again."

"Have Alomina's body cremated. Perhaps the King will see reason once his dead daughter is in front of him," Snoke closed one his hands into a fist. "And no sign of the oldest," It wasn't a question, but a statement, a resigned clarification.

"Unfortunately, yes. We found something at the crime scene that is beneficial, though,"The Sith Lord regarded him with a pointed expression, which Hux took as a signal to continue. "The princess's body wasn't the only one," He activated a holographic image of the crime scene, where a young girl in her early twenties and man who was almost a decade older than her lay together. His hand held hers. "She had a protector. It seems Tempu sent his daughters into hiding with members of his secret guard."

"Wise," The being on the throne murmured thoughtfully. He was bigger than General Hux, comparable to a frail grizzly bear. Hux knew better than to be fooled by his appearance though. "But irking."

"It narrows our search range down to a demographic, at least, Supreme Leader," General Hux persuaded. "I already have a division of search parties looking for an older man travelling with a woman of her exact description. We should have no problem finding them under these pretenses."

"Don't underestimate the intelligence of those men, General," Snoke leaned forward, the light casting ominous shadows on his face. The height of the throne forced Hux to look up. He exhaled slowly. "They are trained to protect at any cost. The dead princess and her guard can attest to that," the towering figure readjusted his stance until it was more relaxed. "That being said," he continued, changing his tone to speculative. "They are dead. Meaning, they are starting to become vulnerable," he took a long breath. "How long until Kylo Ren can return to duty?"

"Yesterday the medics said three days. Today it is a week."

Snoke closed his eyes. "Fine," he whispered finally. "Find me an heir."

"At once, Supreme Leader." General Hux bowed and left the room. As he did, his fear wore off, the fear grounded in dogmatic respect, the kind that was demanded in the face of such omniscient power. He started toward the medical ward. It was here that the ship took its most horrific victims, the kind that demanded the First Order's most skilled surgeons and equipment. Missing limbs, facial reconstruction, organ transplants, it was all done here on the _Finalizer._

' _As well as keeping a Sith Lord in his sickbed long enough for stitches to serve their purpose.'_

The scar on Kylo Ren's face was healing in an ugly sort of way, pink, angry, and deep in his cheek. His side had a habit of splitting open and bleeding everywhere, ruining sheets and pissing off doctor and patient alike. Each time Kylo tore the stitches by moving around, the longer they made him stay. Today they tried stapling it closed in an effort to combat the apprentice's rowdiness.

It was in his ruined, bloody bed, on the end of a row, next to a Stormtrooper recovering from paralysis, that Hux found his companion, thoroughly annoyed and now communication with the medical staff through glares. He was meditating, sitting cross-legged on the bed, and wore a white cotton shirt over his bandaged abdomen and matching pants, something that was rather jarring for a man who wore black religiously.

"The Supreme Leader asked about you today," Hux said as he approached. "He seemed rather discontent about your additional time. This case apparently needs your keen eye," Kylo opened his eyes and glowered, then tilted his head back to he looked at the ceiling. A medical protocol droid's head dangled from the broken light above him. Hux appraised it and gave an exasperated sigh. "I must say, I'm starting to agree. All you seem to do on this ship is break everything."

"I won't apologize," he retorted, still looking up at the detached head.

"I didn't say I wanted an apology," a nurse suddenly whisked past him with a cup of water and a triad of pills. She presented the pills to Kylo, who dry swallowed them without complaint. At a loss, she left the water cup on his bedside table and moved on. "What I do want is for you to stop wasting everyone's time. There are good soldiers who need that bed you're in."

Kylo Ren suddenly turned indignant and scowled at Hux. "Did you just come here to chastise me or is there something else?"

' _Prick.'_ Hux thought.

"Santall murdered Saoronyu's middle daughter," he said through his teeth. The Sith Lord looked away, pondering for a moment.

"And the Supreme Leader wants me to find the other two,"

"One," Hux corrected. "The youngest has sworn fealty to the Rebel cause. She traded her titles for an X-Wing."

"And you haven't found the oldest one and need my help," Kylo made sure to look arrogant, strictly for the purpose of harassing the general.

"Not me," He looked resentful, sounded appalled that Kylo would even consider the possibility. "The Supreme Leader. Now get well soon, and I say that with the utmost sincerity. We have a war to win, in case you'd forgotten, and this princess is our key to doing it. Without her, we lose half the Unknown Regions. Santall's very existence jeopardizes our entire cause and you, Kylo Ren, are doing yourself no favors by sulking in the sick bay and ruining this ship's assets."

"Do you really think I want to be here right now?"

"If you don't, you have an odd way of showing it. With how often you disrupt the healing procedure, some might question whether you want to return to the field at all. I may be at liberty to report a case of stalled recovery."

"You can persuade me without issuing threats, General." Kylo replied, narrowing his eyes.

General Hux leaned forward, his expression venomous. "Stop tearing your stitching," he hissed, then turned to walk away. A timid lieutenant was waiting in his path and retreated a few paces to avoid getting knocked over.

"Something's happened, General Hux, sir," he saluted as he spoke.

"Something good I hope."

"I'm sorry sir," he swallowed and shifted his weight from one foot to another. "It's King Saoronyu's youngest, Princess Peme."

"Has she been killed?"

"No sir," the young officer cleared his throat "She's gone."

* * *

Savita woke up on her own and immediately felt odd, because she never did that. She looked down at the foot of her bed to where her guard had his bed, but it was empty, the sheets unkempt.

"West," She whispered, and slipped off the edge of the bed, crept to the doorway. No one in the common area. The window was wide open. Savita started to feel panic rise in her chest. "West?" She raise her voice to a normal tone and ran, stuck her head out, and looked over the side. No bodies on the street. She moved back inside, willing herself to stay calm. She checked his side of the closet, a minuscule section to hold a few changes of clothes and his knives, his poisons and antidotes. _His shoes._

His shoes were still here. She backed away, turned, and lifted his pillow, where he kept a short, thick blade for emergencies. Gone. He'd taken his knife, but not his shoes.

' _Something's happened,'_ she realized and darted to her closet, stepped into a pair of pants and shoes. As she was tugging them on, a hand hooked around her mouth and dragged her onto her back. She gasped. Alarms blared in her head.

She thrashed, clawed at the hand, and screamed despite her attacker's attempts to muffle her. He had his hand over her nose too. His other arm wrapped around her chest so she couldn't use her arms. Furiously, she kicked at the floor to alert the tenants downstairs, then remembered they went out early during the week for work. It wouldn't have mattered anyway. The man stood up when he realized what she was doing, suffocating her in in midair.

Black spots began to flicker like an old movie in her eyes.

' _Concentrate,'_ she suddenly thought, and began to kick slower and slower. She closed her eyes and gradually went limp. The man dropped her on the floor.

"That's the most pathetic delineated unconsciousness I've ever seen." The man told her. She rolled over.

"West?"

"You just died, you realize that? You're dead. You've been assassinated."

"It's you," she sat up, out of breath.

"I try something new just once and suddenly everything you know flies out the window?"

"There was no one in here, you left your shoes," her eyes flicked down to his feet, which were, in fact, bare. "Your knife was gone."

"All things that would have happened if I had been drugged and taken, myself," Westerly, ex-captain of King Saoronyu's secret guard, took his knife out of his pocket and tossed it at her feet. She wordlessly picked up.

"How did you get in here?" West looked annoyed, his silvering eyebrows hunching over his eyes.

"You didn't close the window," He told her, yanking his gloves off. They glistened slightly on the palms with Savita's spit.

"I looked over the edge."

"You didn't look up."

"You-" she paused, thought for a moment. "You hung off of someone's window and followed me back inside to scare me?"

"To test you. You failed," He tossed his gloves in the closet, then moved to his bed and began to make it.

"You staged an assassination attempt."

"About time you started to use your head."

"Hey," she stood up and threw Westerly's knife so the hilt hit him in the ribs. "What's with your mood?" He leaned down and picked up the knife, closing the blade.

"I got a message last night from our informant. Alomina and Jhan are dead."

Savita blinked and dropped her arms. "Oh," she said.

"They didn't know much, but did know it was deliberate. The First Order ran and investigation on it last week. They think it was Santall's supporters."

"Has he denied it?"

"Savita, these aren't public accusations," he closed the closet doors. The princess remembered her boots and took them off, leaving them in the corner. "The best thing we can do is act like nothing's wrong. Keep to our activities."

"The King doesn't want us back?"

"If he did, he would have told the informant." She considered this, then nodded. "Don't act hurt."

"I'm not," But she said it too fast, to defensively. Westerly opened the curtains in the room. The clouds outside pressed in on the city and promised rain, typical for an Autumn in this region of Reddiqa. Savita considered them with a sudden pensiveness that West ignored until halfway through breakfast.

"Rumor has it the princess will return by the week's end," The king's inability to wire money to his heir undetected had forced both royalty and guard into employment. Their jobs as arms keepers was a seasonal position, but it paid handsomely and kept them well under the radar. Savita also knew the ins and outs of every weapon and piece of armor in the Terrahitian system, something West felt came in handy. Savita preferred her off season job. Fall through half of winter she and Westerly maintained the thousands of swords and axes, spears, shields, nets, and knives that poured in with their handlers, the rest of the year, West tended the coliseum's tavern and Savita helped keep the rooms for the trainees. Most of her money came from the various games the gladiators-to-be brought in. It was here she swapped stories and learned the easiest way to stitch a wound, how to pick a lock and cheat at cards. Where Westerly's honor code or lack of personal knowledge barred him from teaching the princess something, the roughnecks from all across her part of the galaxy were more than happy to take over. Escaping handcuffs? Marinius Velociphae knew a way out of almost any type. Pickpocketing the street traffic? Wyrmund of Raffin personally took her out and showed her how. And Amiicus Augustus, Princess Vindetta of Reddiqa's favored fighter, could tell her every constellation in the night sky. It was the perfect cover. More importantly, it kept them both happy.

And so it had been for the past four years.

The princess of Reddiqa had a pension for Fighting . Never inflicting it of course, but watching, and her return to the capital always brought thousands of gladiators into the coliseums, and twice as many exotic carnivores for added spice. Already the advertising banners had gone up. Seasoned fighters who had patronage from wealthy sponsors could be seen on the posters, posing with their weapons or locked in combat with looks of intense concentration on their faces. The rooms were starting to fill, and Savita was pushed out of the linen closets and dropped into a heap of blunts and blades. "Savita?" West reached forward and nudged her forehead with a knuckle. "You okay?"

"Of course," She blinked. "Yeah, I'm fine."

"I'm telling you, don't take it personally okay? Your father knows what he's doing."

"No, I know," She leaned back and considered her fork. "I just thought under these circumstances he might call us back."

"It's what the First Order would expect," The guard tried.

"But he's sick."

"He will send for you, Savita," Westerly nudged her plate toward her. "Eat so we can go. Work starts in a hour."

Savita obeyed. After, they dressed and made their way downstairs to the pits, where the beginnings of outright discord was dawning. Below the Floor, the gamekeepers had opened up the docking gates and were inspecting a plethora of dangerous beasts, all teeth or claws or brute strength. A few gladiators had snuck in to catch a peek at what they might combat, all clustered by the staff exit in case the head gamekeeper, Skrall, got cranky and threw them out. The girl was quick to recognize a familiar face.

"Mari!" She shouted, and the native turned at the sound of her name.

"Greetings, girl," Marinius's grin was sly and catlike, like all the native Reddiqans, and wiry, all angles and sharp edges. Her eyes were a molten gold that glimmered in the dark hangar, her skin a deep indigo and her teeth sharpened to points. Her hair was shaved close to her head, but suggested hints of magenta. Her voice was a vivacious whisper, misleading and enticing at the same time. She dangled a pair of heavy shackles out for the heir. "First Order standard grade," the gladiator purred. "You can have them if you can get out of them," and Savita held her wrists out eagerly.

"What were you doing with the First Order?" Westerly asked as she closed the cuffs on the princess.

"They wanted to know where I got this," she replied and drew a slim dagger off her hip. She angled it in the sunshine so it cast light into shadows, and tiny refractors near the hilt threw it in the shape of the Rebel insignia. "Pulled it off a body I found near the North Pole. Some covert operation the Alliance recently abandoned.

"That's dangerous," He said, glancing down at Savita. She was examining her gift.

"They thought I was an escort for one of Saoronyu's brats," she continued, sheathing the blade. "Apparently his littlest has gone missing from behind enemy lines."

"How'd you get out?"

"Some kind friends here in the ring vouched for me," the fighter wiped her hands, like she was cleaning herself of the affair. "Anyway, they seemed pretty hot about tracking the other two down since what happened on Aristophane."

"What happened on Aristophane?" Westerly played dumb and Savita glanced up with feigned interest.

"It's all over the news," Marinius tilted her head to the side. "I guess you haven't been outside the coliseum in a few days. Princess Alomina was killed five days ago."

"Murdered?" He clarified.

"You got it."

"Do they know why?"

"Everyone's got a different story. It's no secret the First Order thinks her cousin did it, but some are saying the Order killed her and framed him to sway public opinion on Terrahi back in their favor. The people are starting to divide. A riot is practically imminent."

Just then, an audible click distracted the gladiator as one of Savita's handcuffs opened, swinging free from the other wrist. Westerly was relieved, inwardly. She looked triumphant, a hairpin clenched in her teeth.

"Well done," Marinius grinned, pleased. "But come find me when you can do it in seven seconds with your hands."

"Alright, we've got work to do," West put a hand on Savita's shoulder. "We'll see you in the practice ring."

"Thank you for the handcuffs," Savita held her wrist up. "Of course, Savi. And West?" The old guard raised an eyebrow. "Check this in for me," she flicked the stolen dagger at him.

He caught it deftly by the handle and nodded. They pushed through the staff door and followed the earthy halls until they widened out into the practice hall, a wide room with crash mats and practice dummies. Along the wall adjacent to the door, the arms room had a line of gladiators in armor and carrying weapons.

"Start stripping down," West called as he entered, cutting in front of the first fighter in line. "You'll need to check all armor and weaponry you plan to use in the coliseum. Sneaking anything in will result in disqualification and possible jail time, so please bring anything, no matter how insignificant you think, in to be passed by myself and my comrade."

"So stoic," Savita teased as he held the door to the arms room open for her. Westerly responded by dropping Marinius's dagger into her hands.

"Check that in," he shut the door, snapped the light on, and pushed the metal covering on the room's window up. The line of fighters was in a chaotic jumble, undoing armor obediently. Some of the crowd had dispersed to fetch something they'd forgotten. Savita slipped under the curtain to the vaults and logged the dagger in Marinius's, lingering slightly to admire her other fine blades. Then she closed it, locked up, and went out to help West at the window, filling new vaults and existing ones, writing the names carefully into the database and placing each axe and spear in its rightful place. The armor they only noted in the personal files. Armor didn't bludgeon or decapitate people.

They finished by the middle of the afternoon and watched trainees duel on the Floor while they ate lunch, coaching and cheering from the stands as they hit each other with dull-edged swords. West let Savita take a turn out with Marinius and Wyrmund, who was a grizzled man and thick like a bull. He charged like one with a shield and an axe at the ready, but was also quite skilled with a bow. Finally, Westerly climbed into the ring and tossed his ward a spear.

It was smooth in her palms, the spearhead dull and the point rounded for minimal skin breakage. Savita had no doubt though, that in the right hands the spear could still kill someone. She took up her stance immediately, spinning it once over the back of her hand to show off.

"Take him down, Savi!" Wyrmund roared from the stands and she grinned as she kept eye contact with Westerly. She had yet to succeed in winning against her mentor. But she remembered what she'd been taught. She kept her center, angled the spear, and advanced, establishing contact with the other spear's shaft as West rushed to meet her. A satisfying crack echoed in the practice ring and made the pole shiver in her hands.

The duel was in motion. Westerly sped up his hits and Savita matched him with practiced ease, blocking and dealing with masterful accuracy. She swiped and missed as West knocked her pole up, and Savita redirected the momentum and hit his staff dead center. She slid it sideways as her strength immediately wavered to run over his hand but she missed as he moved it, flexing the other arm to maintain the position but changing so his hand came back down around the spear shaft as her pole skimmed by. Already the heir was moving on and dropped to her knees to swipe at his legs. He stepped smartly over it and came down with his foot on the pole. She dropped it immediately and lunged up under his spear for his neck, clasping his right shoulder and scrabbling messily over it. He caught her by the ankle and threw her to the ground.

Savita rolled on impact, dug her foot into the dusty ground, and pinballed past West, veering under his spear and picking her own out of the dirt. The ambience of the crowd next to them was white noise. She struck again, pressing hard on her opposition.

"Trying to make up for this morning?" West said under his breath. Savita reach out and kicked him in the calf to break his stance, but it wasn't hard enough. He chuckled a little and forced her back a few steps. She grit her teeth, blocked another hit from him and landed a few of her own, and finally hit his body with the spear. It made an audible smacking sound and he grunted in discomfort. Savita had planned out what would happen next. She would give, he would step forward to retaliate, and she would duck and catch him under the ribs with her spearhead.

So she stepped back. He advanced. She moved to meet him, slipped swiftly under his arm...and over the din and cheers, someone's voice was breathy in her ear.

"Savita," it hissed softly, but there was no one by her. The sound distracted her, jerked her away from the ring. She looked around, lowering her spear. Nothing. It sounded for a moment, like everything she heard came from underwater, muffled and indecipherable. And then Westerly's pole connected with her jaw, knocking her off her feet. Her hearing returned to crystal clarity. Immediately the pain circulated around her face, sharp and so prominent that she could _smell_ it.

Coppery blood pricked her tastebuds and she rolled onto her stomach, pushed herself onto her knees and put a hand to her mouth, felt around with her tongue. She spat out a bloody tooth in her hand, then looked up at Westerly and the crowd, who were impossibly silent. She held up the tooth and grinned. Above it all was the man, holding the sword and a duffel bag. He was staring. Wyrmund let out a loud guffaw and hopped over the wall, jogged and knelt by the heir.

"Let's see, then," He prompted. She hooked a finger around her bottom lip and showed him the bloody gap where her right canine had been. He smiled impishly and pulled his own lip down to show two silver incisors. "Titanium, Savi. We'll get you one, too, soon as that gum heals!" Then he slapped her on the shoulder.

She looked down at her tooth. Westerly, Mari, and the other gladiators crowded around her. Her guard apologized for accidentally hitting her, checked the welt on her chin, inspected her gums. He looked the tooth over.

"You've got fragments still stuck in your gums," He sounded disappointed. "You'll need surgery."

Which was bad. Westerly made it a point to avoid hospitals or professional practices at any cost, so much so that Savita had cut herself on glass when she was twelve and the old guard had given her a shot of whiskey rag to bite and did the stitching himself.

"Don't tell anyone you drank that," he had said to the empty shot glass when he was done. It wouldn't be the only time she'd ever use medieval painkillers for injuries.

But Savita had lived her life without ever seeing the inside of a hospital. Her vaccinations had been stolen from various clinics, much to Westerly's chagrin, and Savita's poor eyesight was irremediable without a doctor. He taught her to work around it. Any time Savita came down with an illness, she suffered through it with West at her side and vice versa. Upon joining the Coliseum's staff, they were permitted to see the set of physicians, emergency techs, and surgeons. Dental was different situation.

"Everyone gets a few teeth knocked out in this profession, West," Marinius picked the canine off his palm. "We have an on-call oral surgeon that'll take out the roots and give her a new tooth. Titanium. I'll let the coliseum director know," Westerly only nodded, solemn and pensive. Savita glanced back up at the stands, still a bit shellshocked, but gave up on trying to solve it and stuck the tip of her tongue into the uncomfortable space between her incisor and her molar.

"Here, Savi," Wyrmund pressed some gauze into her hand. Someone had grabbed the first aid kit and it was in the big man's lap, open and mussed as he and West began to dig through it. "Stick that on your gums," Savita crammed it into her mouth, pushing it gently into the canine's place. West dabbed the blood off her face and hand, then helped her to her feet and led her out of the ring.

"Why'd you turn?" He asked her quietly. Savita pretended to readjust the gauze in her mouth.

"I lost focus, I guess," she finally said.

"All right."

"I'm sorry," Savita continued. "I don't know why I did that. It didn't hurt that much if it makes you feel better."

"It's okay to make a mistake now," The old guard replied. "As long as it's not later on, when you have to take care of yourself," They sat back in the stands and watched Amiicus warm up with Wyrmund, a clash of outright force that was a wonder to behold. Savita leaned her head against West's shoulder as she watched, smiling as the cheers and the clash of the blades, the yells of the fighting men blended together.

As the fight ended, Mari sat down next to Savita. "The director saw what happened, Savi, he'll let you get what you need done," then she paused and looked at West. "But you aren't gonna like the payment method."

Westerly's expression hardened. "Go on," he said.

"He wants Savi in the ring next week as a rookie."

Savita looked from Marinius to West, but his jaw was clenched and he looked away. She frowned and pulled her lip in to chew it.

Further up in the stands, a duffel bag by his feet and a greatsword the size of his lightsaber wrapped carefully in a bundle of cloth, Kylo Ren looked down at the trio below and pushed his eyebrows hard over his eyes. He closed them and reached for his side, then moved his hand way, reminding himself not to touch his healing wound, to not pull the stitching. But he need the pain, the extra bondage,to keep him in the dark because he finally understood why this was the final part of his training.

Because when he reached inside her mind to see if her memories matched who he was looking for-and they did- he saw himself in the memories. Because in the deep recesses of his mind, where he buried the things he didn't want to remember, the things he didn't want to ponder, he found her face in his own. And when he had whispered her name, an accident he was presently cursing himself for, the subconscious part of her mind whispered back.

' _I know you,'_ It said to him. _'And you've changed.'_


	2. Chapter 2

Her hair was brown and wavy like his daughter's had been, her skin was the color of clay like his daughter's had been. But when she tilted her head back and stared at him with hard, fractured, jade eyes, he knew it wasn't her.

' _You're not her,'_ he hissed in his head at the little girl. ' _You're an imposter.'_

But she was an order from his King, a final command, a plea, and he had to obey. Despite every attempt at negotiation, she was his mission and standing next to him, wearing a scarf and an old but thick coat, a grey hat hiding most of her hair and her shoes considerably more worn than she was used to, he found her to be his most loathsome mission he'd ever accepted.

' _You're not her,'_ he thought again.

Standing before the train tracks, she was remarkably calm, unlike her younger sister who had to be sedated and put over Jhan's shoulder to silence her hysterics. The littlest sister was blissfully happy, a two year old who burbled into Chitani's neck and patted her face with fascination.

"She likes you cause you're pretty," Jhan had teased the female guard.

But the eldest, the heir, the eight year old, was totally emotionless and startlingly mute as her parents hugged and kissed her goodbye, nodding in response to her mother's instructions and bowing one final time to her father, the King.

And then, under the cover of night, as the monsoons fell around them and wiped away their tracks, the secret guards stole from the palace and Terrahi. And all the time, Westerly hated his mission with a passion that _burned._

* * *

"Do you think it's warm enough for a thunderstorm?" Savita turned back to Westerly, who carried two plates of breakfast to the table. He appraised the clouds for a moment.

"Maybe," The old guard set the plates down. Another preventative for an early grave was buying groceries from the local markets, a task Savita enjoyed very much. With Westerly at her heels, she handpicked the fruits she ate, smelt her bread while it was still warm, watched her meat cut, and sometimes killed, before her. Eating out was strictly forbidden unless Savita could watch her food being cooked.

Savita considered her apple. "West," she said suddenly.

"Mm," he raised an eyebrow, his mouth full.

"How old are you today?" This earned eye contact. He swallowed and frowned. "You never tell me."

"You shouldn't concern yourself with my age."

"West."

"Savita," he fixed her with a hard stare. "Stop."

Savita narrowed her eyes. "Are you in your forties?"

"Savita."

"Too low?" He looked offended. "Too high?"

"Finish your breakfast."

Savita obeyed, eating in silence. "Is there anything you wanted to do tomorrow?" She finally asked.

"Think I'd like to put you on the showfloor."

Savita's face turned to one of shock. She sat upright. "You're letting me do it?"

"It'd be worth the risk," West responded, setting down his fork. He touched the rim of his water glass. "If an assassin comes for you I'd rather they do it now when I still have a fighting chance. Your opponent next week is another girl. Easy pickings, I've pulled her file."

"That's illegal," Savita told him.

"No it's not, you aren't a registered fighter." West shrugged, then continued. "We'll practice today, but then I want to start training you to fight beasts. Tomorrow I'll take you down to the pits but before that we have to find you a sponsor."

"And the only way to do that is to put me on the showfloor with the rookies."

"Right."

"And I fight?"

"You do whatever they want you to do." West took a drink and and Savita set down her apple core, licking her teeth. The gap still felt unfamiliar. Eating out of one side of her mouth was also a pain in the ass. "The director will be there, and the gladiators will influence their sponsors' decisions, as they know the rookies better than them. Most likely, Marinius's sponsor will choose you, or Wyrmund's."

The heir nodded, comforted by that. "We'll have to change my name."

"'Savi' should serve. Half the coliseum calls you that anyway. I think we should put contacts on you, too," Savita crinkled her nose as the idea.

"How much of the Unknown Regions watch the fights?"

"Most of the Terrahitian Empire. And Reddiqa of course. The First Order will be watching," West thought about what he'd just said. "Santall might."

"Let's hope not," Savita replied. But her stomach was beginning to turn with unease. She considered the rest of her food with distaste and got up, dumped it and washed the plate.

"Are you okay?" West turned to watch her.

"Fine," She dried the plate and reached into the cabinet to pull out a package wrapped in grocery paper. "Here," she set it in front of her guard. "Happy Birthday." The heir folded her arms.

"Only one?" He joked, cracking a smile. He reached for it right as lightning cracked across the sky.

"One, two, three, four, five, six," they both started counting immediately. Thunder growled in response when they reached nine. West unrolled the paper and a slim wooden totem fell into his hand, flat and vaguely rectangular and the size of his hand. A man wreathed in clouds held his hands out, rain scattering from his fingertips and the clouds about his head.

"I was counting on it to rain today," Savita told him as he held it up.

"Where'd you find this?"

"A cart in the market a few weeks back. The lady was Terrahitian. She told me the myth," And then she smiled. "It's no temple statue, but it's a pretty good carving and the wood is from the Temple's grove. It's a little piece of Terrahi," Savita sat down. "I don't miss it, but I know you do."

Westerly felt the grooves of the totem with his fingers, the smooth lacquer giving it a fine sheen. "It's beautiful," he murmured.

"Smell it," She told him. "It still smells like Terrahi," A sure enough, when he put his nose to the wood and inhaled, the musky smell of the rain soaked trees greeted him, stirring up old memories like leaves.

"Thank you," he told her. He slipped it in his pocket, stood, and pulled Savita to her feet to hug her. She wrapped her arms around him. They stood in the silence for a while, listening to the other breathe.

"I'm gonna make you a cake later," Savita said into her protector's chest. "Chocolate."

"We'll have to share with the group," West replied.

"Of course," She looked up at him. "Now come on. It's work time."

They spent their day checking the second wave of gladiators and when the crowds died off, West left to buy contact lenses. Savita planted herself in the care of The mess hall's occupants, whose talks of the upcoming matches only made her feel nervous.

"You ought to cut your hair," Marinius told her as the princess went over the next week's lineups. The repair list was already a mile long. West would have to deal with it all himself, a thought that saddened Savita. They always had the best talks while preparing fighters for their matches. "You can tie it up, but it'd be easier to just cut it so no one can grab it."

The vain part of Savita took over, overpowering the tendrils of fear that crept into her mind with Mari's words. "I don't know if I want to do that."

"A sponsor might make you. Mine did," She reached out and touched a curl of Savita's, rubbing it between her fingers. "Otherwise I'd grown mine out like yours. Just be careful of that when you're in the ring then," Savita nodded. "And speaking of sponsors, I had dinner with mine last night. I mentioned you to her and she said she 'd be there tomorrow."

"Thank you," She set the papers aside and noticed her shoelace had come untied. Reaching down to tie it, she continued, "What happens on the showfloor, anyway?"

"Honestly? I have no idea."

"Really?" Savita glanced up for a few seconds.

"My sponsor picked me out of juvenile hall eight years ago. She banked hard on me winning that year and she never picks coliseum trainees. In the off season, she travels looking for new talent. Sometimes I go with and sometimes I don't."

"Wow," The heir sat back up, reached forward and picked up her glass of water. "I'm a little flattered now."

"You should be. And don't count on having your hair much longer if she chooses you."

"That's _if_ your sponsor chooses her," Wyrmund said as he approached, a plate of food in his hands. "Hungry, Savi?" He asked as he dragged a chair out to sit. Automatically, Savita shook her head. The thoughts of next week were making her too nauseous to even consider food.

"No thanks." Wyrmund shrugged and started to eat. "Do you know what the showfloor's like?" The big man nodded, chewing.

"It's different for everyone. You could ask every fighter here and not get the same answer," he told her after he swallowed. "But you're divided into groups and brought out to this large crowd of rich people, all fancily dressed and drinking wine and all that. And if they like how you look they ask to see your file or go down and prod you around. It's a bit boring to begin with, really, but once they start getting serious, maybe they'll ask to see you fight. Or maybe they'll invite you to dinner or interrogate you on where you came from. Like I said, everyone has a difference experience, but the important part is you have to sell yourself," At this point, the brown bearded fighter began to raise his voice. "You do whatever it takes to nail one down, 'cause not every fighter's pretty like Amiicus!"

At the other table, Amiicus looked over and smirked, his teeth flashing slightly. He had no titanium replacements, mostly because no one was tall enough to knock them out. "That's not true," he called back and winked at Savita. "Savi's pretty enough to pull a sponsor."

"Oooooh! I'm tellin' the princess," Wyrmund snickered.

"Oh, grow up. And hey, Savi, don't worry about tomorrow. You'll get a sponsor."

"Thanks, Amiicus."

"Course," he turned back to his food.

"I think I'm gonna head to the arms room," Savita pushed the lists into a pile and stood up. "Just so West won't have so much to do tomorrow."

"Remember, he wants you to practice today," Marinius reminded her and Savita nodded.

"I'll get around to it," she walked out of the mess hall and made her way to the practice ring, her stomach and head swimming as if she were sick.

' _Maybe this isn't such a good idea,'_ she thought. On her way, Savita stopped at the stairs to the Floor leading directly into the ring. After a moment's thought and a quick look around, she began to climb. They were worn and rounded, the stone smoothed from generations of shoes going up and down. The walls were scarred with arcs of blade trails, where many a gladiator had trailed it along to stay for eternity. Savita ran a finger in one mark. It was cold.

The heir reached the top and stepped soundlessly out of the long passage and into the ring. The ground was a fine dust that floated in the air when kicked and it gave easily under her boots, leaving tracks like snow in the mounds of sand. With the muted light dulling her senses, she turned around to watch what she'd made. Then, Savita looked up and around at the cavernous seating.

The skylights hadn't been lit, and neither had the wall spotlights that made the arena into a blinding ellipse of iridescence. The lights along the top of the ring's walls were motion sensing, though, and blinked on when Savita wandered in. She inhaled the coliseum's dusty scent.

There were some places Savita wasn't permitted to go because of where she ranked on the staff and the main ring was one of them. It was set to be raked later today, but footprints criss-crossed the ring from worker boots and anonymous shoe marks like hers. She turned around and around, scarcely believing that next week, she would be the one entertaining the Terrahitian system. She took a deep breath.

"Live from Reddiqa, broadcasting from here to there and to the edge of existence," She spoke the announcer's opening words out loud. "And salutations to all of our watchers. This is the Coliseum."

"Someone asked me to revise that opening when I took over," Savita looked up and slightly to her left. A figure stood among the empty seats, hidden by the shadows. She squinted. "Sorry. Here," a few moments later, the skylights turned on. An older man with a beard longer than Westerly's or Wyrmund's tucked a remote away and smiled. "It was the last director. He said it was his final request. I told him to piss off," He was of an average height, but his hair and beard were a steel grey color and precisely groomed. The man wore dress pants and a collared shirt under a striped waistcoat, also various shades of grey, but bow tie was stark white. It all made his eyes stand out, which were blue like ink and seemed to be as deep as the darkest sea. He carried a walking stick under one arm.

"Oh," Savita stepped back, realizing who she was talking to. Shame burned across her face. "I'm not supposed to be here, I'm sorry sir."

"Why are you sorry?" He came up to the edge of the twenty foot wall, swung his legs over and jumped down, landing in a crouch. Savita wasn't even sure Westerly could do that. "You'll be a gladiator by the end of the day. You have every right to be here," He stood and straightened his waistcoat. "Are you excited?"

Savita nodded, but when he raised his gunmetal eyebrow in a questioning look, she realized he didn't believe her. She readjusted the stack of papers in her hands. "I am excited," she replied. "But I'm nervous and I don't know if I can be excited when I'm worried about what's going to happen once I start."

"Why can't you be both?" The director asked. As he spoke, Savita found his accent to be a sort she'd never heard before. It was lilting, like a Coruscani accent but sometimes pronounced the R's and sometimes didn't. His diction was impeccable. "I've always found the best things in life to be exciting and nerve-wracking. It's part of the fun, being scared of what might happen."

"But what if something bad happens?"

"What if something good happens?" He shook his head. "You don't remember yesterday at all do you? Here, tell me what happened in the ring yesterday."

"I got hit in the face," Savita said.

"And?"

"And...it knocked my tooth out."

"And what else?"

"Um," Savita looked down. "I have a welt on my face," She pointed. The swelling had gone down considerably, but the red mark remained, a shattered half-moon of broken blood vessels beneath the corner of her lip.

"Sure. But do you remember what else happened?"

"I'm not sure what you mean," She replied.

"Alright here's what I saw. Listen," The director took on an engaging stance. "So you got hit in the face. And because it was a really hard hit, you went down like a ton of bricks. For other people, this would have been a knockout, but _you,_ immediately after you went down, started to get up. The whole crowd was watching on the edge of their seats to see if you're okay. Maybe you broke your jaw. Maybe you were going to pass out. Maybe they didn't see straight and it hit your eye. Or your nose!" His eyes were wide, like he was as shocked as the audience. Savita was genuinely entertained, though. "And then, you put your hand to your face and turned back to the people watching...and you held up the tooth," he slipping hands into his pockets. "And you smiled. Despite getting decked by a highly trained fighter, you smiled. Why'd you do that?" Savita didn't have an answer. "If you knew the outcome of the fight beforehand, if you knew you were going to get hit in the face and have your tooth knocked out, no matter what you did, would you still have fought?"

"Probably not."

"Exactly," The director clasped his hands together. "But sometimes it's okay for something bad to happen. Because then, something good happens in exchange. For every action, there is an equal but opposite reaction."

"I've never thought of that," Savita tilted her head to the side. "Thank you."

"Of course. I believe your friends call you Savi?"

"That's right."

"Well so long, then, Savi. I look forward to seeing who sponsors you tomorrow." He bowed a little, then did an about face and disappeared through one of the maintenance tunnels. Savita waited until he was gone before she left the way she came in. As she walked, she tried to remember if she'd ever come across the director before. The heir doubted it. She would have remembered someone like him, with his quirky style of dress and his strange accent.

"Excuse me," Someone was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. "Aren't you one of the arms keepers?"

' _I'm not supposed to be here,'_ she thought and slowly stopped. This wouldn't go to the director. It would be reported to the Head of Staff, a prim woman who wouldn't be as forgiving.

"Not for much longer," she tried. "I've already put my paperwork in to become a gladiator."

"But you're still an arms keeper," He was tall, hidden partially by the light behind him and altogether a bit threatening, holding a sizeable longsword. And he knew who she was. Savita was running options through her head when he spoke again. "Aren't you?"

Defeated, she replied, "Yes, I am."

"So you can still check my sa-uh…" He looked down. "Sword. Sorry, old habit. I used to use a sabre before I lost it."

Savita blinked, piecing together what was happening. "You want me to check your sword," she repeated.

"I came in late last night."

"Oh."

"It's fine if you can't. I know there's another checkpoint tomorrow, so I can come back. I just saw you leaving the mess hall and thought it couldn't hurt," Savita ventured down to the bottom of the stairs so the light was on his face. His hair was black and wavy and he was tall, taller than Westerly by a few inches. Ultimately, he towered over Savita. A deep scar ran from his cheek to his forehead.

"You're new, huh?" He nodded pricked her. "All right, I'll check it in. But you're gonna need your armor, too."

"I don't wear armor," he replied.

"You're sure about that?" She motioned for him to follow her and they started down the hall side by side.

"I don't need it."

"Last person who told us that had to be scrubbed off the side of the Coliseum, friend," She told him.

"I don't need armor," he said again, his voice hardening. "Because I've been trained to fight without it."

Savita only shrugged. "Okay then," and she turned in front of him into the practice hall, where it was predictably empty. She unlocked the door and stepped in, then halted abruptly when the man tried to follow. He slammed into her, scooted her forward a few steps. The heir looked calm as she met his defiant gaze. "Wait outside, rookie."

He opened his mouth to protest, but she shouldered him out and closed the door, locking it behind her. Savita took a moment to herself in the dark.

' _Inhale, exhale.'_ Then she turned on the light and dropped the lists in the vaults. When she opened the service window, the man had an annoyed look on his face.

"I'm not a rookie," he said to her.

"You're new to the Coliseum," Savita set a pen and a form on the counter between them. Her tone was neutral. "Doesn't matter if you were a Reddiqan Royal guard or a First Order Stormtrooper, you're a rookie now," she stepped back and looked up. His expression was reproachful. "Let's see this sword then," She held her hands out. He dropped it on her open palms and she braced herself, but the when the weapon settled it was surprisingly light. She frowned. "What metal is this?" She held it upright, studying the blade.

"I don't know," The new fighter was filling out the form. "I didn't ask when I got it."

"Well, where'd you get?"

"First Order."

"Didn't know the First Order had swords like this," she examined the hilt, then aimed it down to sight the straightness. "Actually, I didn't know the First Order had swords at all."

"Neither did I," Savita appraised him from under her eyebrows for a few seconds.

"Did you steal it?" She asked, holding it flat with the blade resting on her shirtsleeve.

"No," The man glanced up, then continued answering the form's questions.

"Let me rephrase. Is the First Order going to come looking for this?" She raised the longsword to further her point.

"Why do you need to know?" He stood up straight, exasperated.

"Because the director has better things to do than dispute the legality of your criminal past with the First Order. And if you're as good as you say you are, it might be in your best interest to cover your ass," They stared each other down.

"No," He finally snarled. "The won't be looking for it, because they gave it to me."

Silence. Savita tilted her head to the side in disbelief.

"The First Order _gave_ you a _sword_."

"I did a favor for them. They gave me that as a thank you."

Savita knew better than to nose around bounty hunter business, especially in her situation. Still, she prodded ever so slightly for peace of mind. Casually, she nodded as if she was satisfied, and walked back into the vaults to put the sword under the scanner. It was a wide machine that analyzed every aspect of the weapon, from weight to atom count, to identifying recent fingerprints. It would even recognize blood types. She left it to do its work and went back to the front.

"You know," she started, trying to keep the tone conversational. "We don't get a lot like you here. Bounty hunters, I mean," he hummed.

"Who said anything about me being a bounty hunter?"

' _Safe.'_ She shrugged as it wasn't of interest.

"I just assumed. Anyway it's mostly soldiers and thrillseekers who come into this job."

"And what does that make you?" He slid the completed paperwork over to her. "You strike me as too insolent to be a soldier and too docile to be a thrillseeker."

"A minority," Savita replied. "I'm a refugee."

"From where?"

"Nowhere you need to know," Westerly was in the doorway. He had a bag over his shoulder and he walked past the man as if he wasn't there, heading toward the door. Savita rushed to unlock it. Where she opened the door for him, he met her with a glowering stare.

"I'm sorry," she immediately said. He brushed past her, dropped his bag behind the counter, and picked up the papers the man had filled out. West nodded solemnly, turned the page, then reached up to shut the window.

"You can go now," he told him and slammed it.

"That was rude," Savita asserted.

"I leave you alone for one hour," he murmured, handing her the papers. He walked past her into the vaults. Savita followed.

"The pit echoes, West, if he had tried anything I would have screamed and someone would run to help me. And you've trained me for this, I can defend myself."

"But that doesn't mean you take unnecessary risks," West pulled the receipt off the scanner, read through it, and gave it to Savita, who tucked it into the paperwork. "You don't know who he is or what he's done. This is the third time you've had poor judgment and it hasn't even been twenty-four hours, Savita. I don't feel confident that you'll be okay in the ring."

"I _will,_ " She hissed. "I can do this."

West took on a pained look, raised his hand in a fist, and settled it on the scanner. He turned the machine off with his pinkie.

"You can still withdraw. The paperwork hasn't been filed yet, you still have time-"

"I want to," she spoke the words with such certainty that she even surprised herself. She exhaled, resettled her weight, and and turned to an empty vault. "I want to do this." Westerly was deathly silent for a few moments, and Savita began to program the vault. It popped open with a hiss and a creak and Savita laid the sword inside, then locked it. "I can do this," she repeated. But even she had to admit, she was trying to convince herself more than anyone.

* * *

First Order personnel were everywhere.

Westerly gripped Savita's hand purposefully as they walked through the crowds, shepherding the young heir apparent toward the boarding platform. In between the sleek, shiny carriers teeming with soldiers and crates of materials was a beat up tanker set for Aristophane. From there, it would take them to the edge of the Unknown Regions and into the Galaxy, to places not even Westerly had been. But that was _if_ they boarded without getting caught. A quick glance down at his ward and they were moving again, Westerly palming a bag of coin.

"Excuse me," he sidled up to a man sorting cargo, who responded with a disinterested glance and a grunt to know he had his attention. "This ship is headed to Aristophane, yes?"

"S'right," he rumbled. "You want passage, you talk to the captain."

"Is he inside?"

"She is," a thickset woman with a chest protector and twin blasters stepped down the ramp, every ounce of her hard muscle. "And we aren't taking passengers. Find another ship."

"I can pay."

"Don't care," she rested a hand on a blaster. "Take your girl and go," she looked down at Savita briefly, then looked again, furrowing her eyebrows. Westerly watched her tense, then reached in his pocket for his own blaster, his hand curling around the handle. Level with the guard's waist, Savita stared back. Recognition registered on the woman's face. She stepped forward and West put a hand on her shoulder, ready to fire and run. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a fire exit. They could make it, he was sure. As the captain knelt down, he changed his stance so it was angled toward the door. "I know who you are," she told Savita softly, then reached up to move a lock of hair away from the princess's face. An audible click caught the woman's ear as West removed the safety. "No need for that," she stood up. "You won't be safe where you're headed. Come on. Ghast," she called to the man by the cargo. "Call Armin back, we're headed out. Pack the ship," the captain leaned in and murmured, "Watch for birds."

"Aye."

Then she ushered them aboard. "Wait here. Faster we get our cargo in, the faster we get you offworld," then she gave a final look to Savita, reached out and took her hat off. "You're okay now, Your Grace. We'll keep you safe," she looked up at West. "Take your hand of your gun, soldier. First Order's no friend of mine."

"Prove it."

She pushed up her sleeve and unfastened an ID bracelet from her wrist. "My father's," the captain tossed them to him. "Major and commander of the 3rd Division of the Rebel forces. He and five hundred men held Fort Trillia for eight weeks before the First Order's bucketheads set four Rathtars on it," she stuffed her hands in her pockets. "He was one of the best pilots in the Galaxy. Taught me how to fly, too. Only one guy got loose and brought the air forces to gun them all down. When they cut them all open, that was all they could give us. Proof enough?"

"I'm sorry," West handed the bracelet back. "I have to be careful."

"I understand," She backed out of the ship. "Sit tight."

After fifteen tense minutes of total silence, the two returned with another red-faced man from Aristophane and they departed, shooting into space and away. As they left Terrahi's atmosphere, Savita crawled out of her seat and wandered to the window. The planet was shrinking rapidly as the captain walked up.

"I'm taking you into the inner parts of the Galaxy to Hosnian Prime. It's not as tame as Naboo maybe, but it's easier than Coruscant. The Senate's there so if anything happens, you'll be safe. It'll be about four hours," she said. "I've got food if you guys want anything. Nothing fancy, obviously, but from the looks of you two it might something to get used to."

"Maybe later," he replied, studying his hands. The woman sat down next to him.

"Something tells me you aren't thrilled about this mission. Leave anything behind?"

"It's complicated."

"Not like we're gonna be friends after this. And I'd chew my own legs off before I'd give away anything to the First Order."

"You say that now," He started.

"Like you've endured First Order torture," He changed his expression and the captain lost her joking grin. "Really?"

"Not by the First Order."

"Well," she rubbed her hands against her thighs. "I told you about my brother."

"That was under a different context."

"It was still personal," She argued. When Westerly said nothing, she prodded further. "Then tell me something vague. Tell me something the First Order wouldn't be able to use against you," He shook his head. "Surely you can think of something."

West exhaled. "I had a daughter."

"Had."

"She was eight and she liked to draw. And she'd just lost her sixth tooth when she went in for an annual checkup and the doctor diagnosed her with leukaemia. So we started treatment for her, she lost all of her hair, she got worse, she moved permanently to a hospital, and then she died. And a few months after her funeral my wife told me she didn't want to be married to me anymore."

"Oh shit," the captain leaned back. "And now you have…" She waved a hand in the princess's direction, who was still watching out the window. "I mean just...wow. Okay. I think it's be insensitive at this point to even say I'm sorry."

"You don't have to," he stared at Savita. She was stretched up on her tiptoes, her forearms folded onto the window's ledge. "I refused at first. I threatened to quit. Then I realized I didn't have anything to stay for so I took it."

"But you still don't like it."

"I _hate_ it," he corrected. "I hate _her._ "

The woman blew a piece of her mud colored hair off a place on her forehead, thinking. Finally she said, "How is that her fault?"

"What?"

"It's not her fault," she pointed to Savita. "That you had a mid-life crisis," she pulled her legs up on the chair and wrapped her arms around them. "You can't hate her forever because you got dealt a crappy hand," West only turned away, then looked down. "It's just something to think about."

She left to the cockpit. The ship fell into four hours of silence, during which Savita retreated back to her seat and promptly fell asleep. West moved so she could lay down. He sat on the ground facing the princess, watching her sleep with intense thought, a frown, and creased eyebrows.

' _I could hate you forever.'_ He thought. When they landed, he scooped the princess into his arms.

"Thank you for your help," he rearranged the girl so he could shake the captain's hand. She accepted.

"Can I know your name before you disappear?" The woman asked. Slowly, he shook his head. "Well mine's Harriet. It was nice to meet you."

West nodded, then looked around. "Do you like the this ship?"

"Sure," she shrugged. "It's not bad."

"Anything of value on here?"

She gave him a funny look. "Why are you asking?"

He stepped closer and leaned in. "Are you attached to the people on this ship?"

"Why?"

"Because if you trust me, you'll get what you can't live without and meet me me at the edge of the airfield in ten minutes," West moved away, gathered the rest of his things, and carried the heir down the ramp. "Thank you again," he said as he left.

The guard wove through the foot traffic and Savita stirred, blinking in the sudden sunlight. Westerly set her down at the edge of the airfield. She looked around, squinting at the activity around her. He knelt before her and she turned to face him, her face that of childlike indifference. He turned his attention back to the ship they'd left, which was still silent, and finally exhaled resignedly. He sucked in a new breath and addressed Princess Savita.

"Hello, Your Grace," he set his bags down. "My name is Westerly and I'll be taking care of you," She only blinked. "It's a bit warm here, Princess. Would you like to take that coat off?" She nodded, then reached and started to unfasten the buttons. West unwound the scarf from around her neck, then his own, and stuffed them in the bag. She handed him her coat and he folded it on top of them, then closed it.

"Do you know where we are, Princess?" She shook her head. "We're on Hosnian Prime, do you know where that is?"

"No." He was slightly taken aback when she finally spoke, but continued.

"Well it's a Core World, meaning it's in the inner part of the Galaxy. And your father wants you to see it. The whole Galaxy, and then once you've seen it all, you can go home and tell him about it. Does that sound fun?"

"Hey, you," Harriet, with a drawstring bag on her back, was walking towards them. "So what's this about?"

West felt anchored to the ground. He forced himself to stand up. "You're sure about this?"

"I still want you to tell me why you wanted me off that ship."

"King Saoronyu crafted three separate escape plans himself; one for each of his daughters. No one other than he, his wife, and three members of his secret guard knew about it. I am one of them."

"What does that have to do with me?"

"The King briefed us all separately for anonymity, so if one was caught, they wouldn't be able to give away the other heirs' positions. Mine was to take Princess Savita to the East Trade Post and board a specific ship. Your ship. He was very adamant that we board this ship and no other one for a reason." The ex-captain pulled a remote with a single button out of his pocket and poised his thumb over it. "I wanted you out because we have to cover our tracks." He paused, closed his eyes, took a breath and opened them. Then, he hit the button.

Underneath the ship's wings, studding the ceiling of the cabin, and freckling the landing gear, twenty detonable explosives the size of blueberries blinked red simultaneously, once, twice, thrice.

And then, with no further grandeur or fanfare, the ship exploded, burning the evidence of Her Majesty, the Crown Princess Savita's passage along with the cargo, the metal, and the two oblivious crew members.

It shook the landing grid, people screamed, and smoke billowed up in an ugly black cloud to announce the destruction to far off spectators. Harriet, Westerly, and Savita, however, were running in the opposite direction and into the heart of the city.

In the weeks that followed, the recently moved Senate was criticized for not having security cameras on the airfield and the cause of the incident remained unsolved.

But the perpetrator was already offworld.


	3. Chapter 3

_*A/N*: Hello all! This chapter is shorter than the other two, namely because I spent a lot of time researching and fact-checking_ _some of the more obscure pieces of the Star Wars universe while keeping up with my weekly deadlines. Hopefully everything meshes, but if you see a discrepancy of any sort, do let me know. Thank you for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews! Enjoy!_

* * *

Stepping into the ring, Kylo was immediately disoriented by the blinding lights. He turned his sword-an exact mimicry of his lightsaber-and ignored the cheers from the crowd, who were clearly for his opponent. He was muscular, the kind of frame that was honed in a gym, not the field, and exceptionally present in the press despite his rookie status. He pounded his fist in the air and roared along with the audience, the other hand carrying a double sided spear. Kylo's temper flared when he saw it. It was like that awful metal pole that the Girl had, the scavenger from Jakku. It didn't help either, that he found this specific fighter to be particularly infuriating.

Kylo stepped forward as the referee took to the Floor, meeting him and the other fighter in center.

"You know the rules," the ref, wiry and tall, and reminiscent of a toothpick, told them. "Just don't try to kill one another and you're gold. Give 'em a show. Any last words?" They chose silence. The ref nodded. "Okay. When I blow the whistle, you stop, got it?" He cleaved his hand through the two fighters. "Fight begins when the director says." He walked away to his platform, which immediately ascended to hover above their heads.

"Hey," The rookie spoke. Kylo allowed eye contact. "Forgot to ask you. Where'd you get that?" He drew his finger along his face, indicating the apprentice's scar. Annoyance pricked him.

"Do you want one?" When the man creased his eyebrows and shook his head, Kylo spun the sword expertly and took a starting stance. "Then don't ask."

In his personal box, the director clapped his hands to start the match. The spotlights swerved back onto the ring, eight disks of white light roaming dramatically along the dusty floor. Two took their focus on him, while another pair began to chase his opponent around as he spun his spear like a pinwheel, twisting it around himself and flipping it into a blur for the Coliseum's entertainment. When he finished, he held it above his head with one hand and threw the other hand out to rouse the crowd. They cheered in response, glittering prettily from the cameras and flashy clothing. He grinned at the response, pumping the spear in the air and drowning in the warmth of the audience's praise, the heat of the lights. He would win this. He would win this and move straight through the brackets so he could fight beasts. An anooba maybe, or a cherfer. And then next year, when he stepped into the ring, he'd be a gladiator, fighting those like Wyrmund or Amiicus. He was ready for this fight. He twisted the spear one last time.

And then he turned.

And then he gasped.

And then he ran.

Because the rookie with the spear was a performer. The violence he knew was one in a controlled environment, far from the cutthroat days of to-the-death battles the Coliseum hosted in its ancient days. He was trained to only hurt and it showed in his eyes, the caution and softness that kept him away from the throat and the heart, that took the edge off his ferocity. He was a lion raised in captivity, fat from a feed and poised to be adored.

But the man who charged him now was a killer. There was no softness there. His eyes were cold and black and as unforgiving as the sea at night, breath-stealing and piercing. He was no safari park attraction. Kylo Ren, or Ben Schae as the public would know him, was a savage jungle cat.

And even if a zoo-born lion lands more than a blow, even if it stands its ground instead of turning tail and forfeiting, it will never win against the wilds-bred jaguar.

Not ever.

* * *

* _Five days before*_

' _Ben Schae. Ben Schae. My name is Ben Schae.'_

The name was infuriating. It had been Hux's idea. He'd smirked as he'd suggested it and typed it into the file, enjoying every bit of how livid it made Kylo. The Sith Lord had been half tempted to put his lightsaber through the screen. Now he had to wear it wherever he went, writing it down, practically spitting it out to everyone who asked his name. It appeared on his ID cards, his travel papers, his work permit. He had to constantly remind himself when he checked rosters for a gym locker or a room key that Schae, Ben was what he had to look for, not Ren, Kylo. And every time he saw it, it was like reopening a wound. He'd see it and for a split second he was on the bridge, the smell of scorched metal in his nose, a red glow tinging his vision, the feeling of his own anger and through that, fear. Surprise. Pain. _Regret._

The lines from that night were so blurred it was hard to tell what had been his emotions and what had been Han's. He didn't like to think about it. What mattered, Kylo decided, was that he was dead. He was closer to the Dark Side as a result.

"Hey," a pair of thick knuckles knocked on the tabletop where he was sitting. The apprentice looked up from the breakfast he was meditating over to see a larger man around his age standing above him, and the rest of the mess hall's occupants steadily filtering out into the pits."We're heading out. Sponsors are here."

Kylo nodded. He dumped his food and left the tray in the stack, not failing to notice the same man waiting in the door jamb.

' _Walk away,'_ The apprentice thought sullenly, but as he predicted, the other rookie fell in place beside Kylo as they followed the rest of the traffic toward the stairs.

"So you're the one who's got that sword, right? The older looking one?"

"Yes." He put on all of his formalities to indicate disinterest. The phrase cutting and slang he'd used yesterday for Savita had been a bit of a lapse back into how he used to talk, before he joined the Order. He'd enjoyed it though. It was easy.

"It's pretty cool looking." Kylo hummed in response, stuffing his hands in his pants pockets. "Is it light? It looks light," The Sith Lord didn't respond. "Although, you look like a pretty strong guy, so maybe it just...you know, looks light." And then he laughed nervously. Instinctively, Kylo Ren put out feelers to sense his emotions and the feedback jarred him.

 _Lust?_

This was new. This was definitely new. Especially from a guy.

"It's actually quite light." Kylo wracked his brain to come up with a way to deter this. "I don't know what it's composed of, but it's a nice quality."

"Bet it's something rare. Where'd you get it?"

"It was from the First Order. I did a job for them about a month ago."

"Really? First Order?" Kylo nodded, slightly fascinated by his enthrallment. ' _So this is what it's like to feel attractive.'_

"Just a short bounty hunting job."

"Crazy. I'd ask to see it, but I'm guessing you took it to the vaults." Suddenly his emotions changed. There was purpose here. A hidden agenda. Immediately, Kylo turned a jaded eye on the situation.

"I did."

"Was it the guy or Savita?" Jealousy. There it was.

"Savita," he replied. "Why?"

"Well…" He looked at Kylo for a second, stopping. "Well, hell, did you even look at her?" So this was where the lust came in. This made more sense. Kylo played dumb though.

"I'm not sure what you mean."

"Okay, look," the rookie started them walking again. "You kinda caught her without her watchdog. Apparently that older guy hangs around her all the time, it's like this weird father-daughter relationship. Anyway, I noticed that, and when you checked the room roster you were looking in the R's-"

"Is there a point to your rambling?"

"All I want to know is if you're interested."

"In what?" Kylo knew perfectly well what, but he was enjoying this slightly. He could feel him getting annoyed and it was starting to show on his face.

He leaned in and whispered, "Savita."

Kylo stepped back and produced the most condescending expression he could. Then, without saying a word, he walked away. Situations like that were ones he didn't like to confront; the hostility men held over women. To put that much blind faith in something that would go unrequited was against everything he'd been taught. It wasn't to say that he abstained from it...just avoided it. Better not to risk more opportunities to stick his foot in his mouth.

Kylo finally caught up to the crowd at the foot of the stairs, where an crinkled old lady was passing out numbers and shouting instructions-or attempting to, at least-over their chattering. One presence among them was familiar. ' _The princess.'_ Savita had tied her hair into a bun and was fixing the identification chip to the strap of her vest as she climbed the stairs. Kylo remembered the feeling of shame coming off of her yesterday, recalled realizing that he'd caught doing something she wasn't supposed to. Then the cool relief that had replaced the sheepishness, like turning a switch.

"Here!" The woman's sharp fist jabbed into the apprentice's chest and he reached up without looking, letting the one that fall into his hand. A small chip with a number christened him "237" and he clipped it to the collar of his shirt. Up in the ring, the new fighters milled in small groups that spanned the dusty floor's length.

He trailed Savita, watching her wander through the crowds with intent curiosity.

' _I know who you are,'_ Kylo thought. She still looked the same from when he'd seen her last, with coffee colored waves and and a sharp, angular nose. She still didn't wear makeup but she had definition to her now, carving out her arms and scraping the baby fat from her face.

Again, the Sith Lord reached for his side to pick at his stitching, then stopped himself, remembering where he was, what he was doing. He reminded himself to save it for the ring. In a few days, he could purge all of the compulsions to turn to the light.

To distract himself, Kylo looked up at the panel of sponsors and searched the faces for someone he knew, noting the glass partition set up to pick up each chip's signature and project the number. The First Order was sending a representative under a false name to sponsor him, reaching out through one of their supporters in order to keep the apprentice afloat in the Coliseum. He knew the business-Magnes Incorporated, a longtime quadanium steel company and sympathizer of the old Galactic Empire-but he didn't know who would be there. An officer no doubt. Not too high up so as to warrant suspicion, but important enough. His search was put on hold when Savita approached.

"Hey you," She nudged him and he looked down, slightly surprised. "Sword guy. I found out what it's made of, by the way."

"The sword?" Kylo noted her number: 211.

"Yeah," She stuck her hands in her pockets. "It's songsteel. Must've been some favor you did." Of course it'd be songsteel. He wondered where they'd picked it up or even where they found people qualified enough to forge it. "Anyway, two thirty-seven, I didn't get a chance to snoop around in your paperwork last night. What's your name?"

"Ben Schae," it felt like a white hot poker down his throat. "What about yo-"

"Form a line!" The director appeared through a maintenance tunnel and paced before them, drawing an arc in the air with his walking stick. "Quickly, if you will." Immediately, something felt... _off_ about him. Kylo tilted his head at the man, garbed in different shades of grey but with sparkling blue eyes.

"My name's Savita," his attention snapped back to her. She smiled as she spoke and Kylo noticed a gap where her canine should have been.

' _That's new.'_ He stayed by her as they all fanned out into a jumbled semicircle. "You don't have a last name or...is it two eleven?" She crinkled her nose at his attempt at humor.

"It's Reed." Kylo nodded. He kept an eye on the director, who was introducing them to the sponsors in the first row. "He's strange, isn't he?" He looked down. She was watching him too, then glanced up at Kylo. "I met him yesterday. I've never heard that accent before, have you?"

"No," he admitted. As if on cue, the director turned toward them and raised his hands for silence. The rookies responded immediately and all heads tilted up to the stands, where the group of sponsors tapped away on tablets to view personal files. The chip on Kylo's shirt collar vibrated suddenly, and he looked down at it, puzzled. He looked around to see if anything similar had happened.

"I means you've been chosen," Savita whispered, her lips barely moving. "Step forward." Kylo decided to trust her and he moved a foot forward. Sure enough, others were moving ahead, relief flooding their faces. He kept a tab on Savita, who had the kind of annoying optimism that promised a grin in the face of death. When the apprentice looked down at the director again, he was watching the ex-arms keeper intently. Reaching out to him brought in a strong, almost suffocating wave of curiosity. A touch repulsed, Kylo retracted and sighed. At least whoever the Supreme Leader had sent was doing their job.

The more season gladiators began to filter in from above, and the Sith Lord felt Savita brighten significantly behind him. He recognized the two fighters she'd sat with yesterday at their sponsors' sides, murmuring to them softly in the quiet. Several seconds passed before the girl stepped forward to join him and the other chosen rookies, smiling jubilantly. Even the director looked pleased.

After a few more minutes, the silver man raised a hand and attendants directed the men and women in the stands into security lifts, taking them down to the dusty floor. He watched them all trickle down, his careful eye catching the single man at the top of the seating keeping an intent watch on what was happening below, like a prison guard. A stocky man and a thin waif of a woman with gold hair approached Savita. The woman slowed, whispered something to the man, and then stopped. The gladiator continued on without her.

"Didn't think we'd leave you out to dry, eh, Savi?" He grinned, held out a hand, and the escaped heir was moving to see the woman, who smiled curtly at her with her arms folded.

A man in a red dinner jacket and beige, straight-legged pants picked his way through the people to his side and Kylo immediately saw through the disguise.

"I must admit, I'm surprised," General Hux, his ginger hair tucked under a blonde wig and his eyes masked with glasses, told him as he moved closer. "I didn't expect you to be so far along already."

"Was this your idea?" The raven-haired man had an automatic cool exterior specifically for people like Hux.

"Partially," Hux replied. "Supreme Leader Snoke originally wanted Captain Phasma. I managed to persuade him otherwise," he tilted his head, then looked to Savita's back. "Is that her?"

"That's her."

Hux's expression was unreadable. "There's still no sign of the other girl."

"We have this one."

"You of all people should know that it doesn't necessarily mean security. We-excuse me- _you_ have left loose ends before and it's come back to bite us in the arse." Kylo Ren began to grind his teeth at this. "Not to worry, though. I'm here to ensure that doesn't happen again."

The Sith Lord inhaled, exhaled, and spoke. "I've found her guard. He's up in the stands," Hux turned to look, but Kylo stopped him. "Don't. He's too observant. The good news is he looks older than the other guard. The dead one."

"Anything else?"

"He's remarkably skilled and agile despite it and he's never far from Savita."

"Meaning you can't do anything without rousing suspicion."

"I can," Kylo interjected. "It'll be difficult, but not impossible."

"Then get it done. The Supreme Leader wants her as soon as possible."

"Gentlemen!" The director, like a grey ghost, appeared next to them. "I'm the director of the Coliseum, if you please." He was all smiles and formality, taking turns shaking the hands of each man. The only thing not lacking a grey tone with this man were his eyes, skin, and bow tie, which was white.

"Jensen Wolcott from Magnes Incorporated," General Hux kept his tone steady through the lie.

"Oh yes, I know who both of you are," The director rested one hand on the walking stick and another in his pocket. "Rather curious when I was notified of you though. I was told they'd be sending someone…" He paused, like he was trying to find the word. "Of a lower rank."

"Unfortunately, there was a change of plans. Internal affairs; I'm sure you understand."

"But of course." The man left to another group, bowing his quick about face. Immediately, Hux handed Kylo a quadanium steel business card with the Magnes I Incorporated logo engraved on it, and a phone number. "Ask to speak to Jensen Wolcott if you need anything. They'll link you directly to me."

The knight took the card without bothering to look at it. "Look up the last name Reed on Terrahi when you get back. It's the surname Savita has; her guard might have it too."

"You're certain that's her guard?" Hux asked. For the briefest of moments, his eyes flicked up to the stands.

"Yes. I met him last night, General. He fits the description."

"I'll have our people look into it. In the meantime, stay on guard around the director."

"Why?"

"He mentioned that he was expecting someone of a lower rank. We hadn't chartered anyone to come to the ring until it was agreed that I would go and only a select few knew that Phasma was up for consideration," Hux let his stare settle on the director's back. "That man knows who we are, meaning we have a rat in our camp." He paused. "And it may be necessary to stage an accident for our dear director."

* * *

 _Chock. Chock, chock, chock,_ _ **CRACK.**_

Savita back away, exhausted and holding the shattered remnants of her wooden staff. Her opponent advanced without mercy, bringing one end on his own staff down toward her head.

"Improvise!" He shouted, and Savita squeaked and dropped the two ends, raising her hands up to protect her skull. At the last second, the opponent's pole swerved and knocked into her ribs, shoving her to the ground. She collapsed in a cloud of dust and laid there. Westerly, drenched with sweat threw down his pole in disgust. "This isn't a game, Your Grace," he snarled. "Get up!" She looked at him through a tangle of brown waves, then reluctantly got to her feet. "Gather your weapon. Hurry up." A half in each hand and they were at it again, West circling with the precision and aggravation of a poised snake and Savita holding them uselessly, covered in dust and bruises. "Keep your form, Your Grace," he hissed and moved in for a strike. Savita knocked it aside, then stood straight.

"I don't want to do this anymore." She said softly.

"You don't have a choice," West jabbed the end of the staff into her stomach so hard she cried out and sat town hard. "Get up." He spun the pole around his hand. "Now, Your Grace." But she stayed on the ground, holding her stomach. "Get up princess." She muttered something West couldn't hear. "What was that?" He leaned forward. "What'd you say?"

"No," she said. The top half of her body was curled in on itself, her legs at crooked angles before her. Westerly leaned in with a furious look on his face.

"Say it to my face," he told her through his teeth.

At once the princess looked up, her eyes Greek Fire, her face full of rage. "NO!" Quick as lightning, she swept up one of the pieces on the staff and struck Westerly hard across the face, bringing him to his hands and knees. He swore, and began to cradle his temple, then looked back at Savita, who still has the ghost of her anger still surrounding her. "No," she repeated, and Westerly sat back, breathing hard. His head was starting to throb.

"Okay," he wiped the sweat off his forehead and watched her, then cracked a smile. "Fine. We don't have to do it anymore." Savita didn't move. They were silent for a while, sitting in the clearing and listening to the wind blow the trees around them. Finally, West spoke again. "You have to learn this though. I can't go easy on you."

"You don't have to yell."

"It's the way I was taught."

"Then your way is stupid." She stood up, picked up the other part of the staff, and looked over at her guard. Her expression softened a little. "I'm sorry I hit you."

"Don't apologize," West said. "That was good."

"Thank you." She looked around, the wind stirring her hair a bit. "How long until we reach Theed?"

"A day and a half," The guard stood and walked to their backpacks nearby and pulled out their canteens. He held one out for her. "And then we'll head to Hosnian Prime."

Savita took her canteen, then her lunch, and sat down with the poles next to her. West settled across from the princess. "It's a shame though, I like it here."

Westerly nodded. "According to the guidebook, Naboo is supposed to be the most beautiful and enlightened planet in the Galaxy. Their government has an elected monarch."

"How does that work?" Savita asked.

"They elect children as a way of balancing the generations, I think. Men and women serve as advisors and the child rules so everyone has a say. It's rather poetic."

"Interesting," Savita mused over her bread. She pulled a chunk off and ate it. "And yet they still have power in the Senate."

"Correct. But that's only because they're a part of the Republic. There are some, like in Hutt Space, where the they have no power. Not even their money would be accepted."

"I see," The princess said. "Would Terrahi be able to function under the Republic?"

"That's the theory," West took a swig from his canteen. "And if we have any hope of gaining support in the Senate, we have to make it seem plausible. _You_ have to make it seem plausible."

"And will the Senate listen to a twelve year old?"

"No. But a single senator might. And a single senator is all we need." She thought about this, then took the cap off her canteen and drank.

"We don't have to right now," Westerly reminded her. "Your father was very adamant about not pushing you into things you didn't want to do."

"I want to do this," Savita told him, looking down at her canteen. Then she looked around, her jade gaze finally coming to rest on West. "I can do this."

The guard knew though, that that was a phrase that would soon earn a certain infamy and lie.

It was better though, he thought, to be brave than cower in fear forever. If there was one thing he'd do raising the heir to the Terrahitian throne, it was to teach her bravery because in her position, it was all she had. That, and her wits. He'd make sure she was smart, too, the kind of smart only a street could teach her.

Her hair was brown and wavy like his daughter's had been. Her skin was the color of clay like his daughter's had been. But when she tilted her head up and stared at him with hard, fractured, jade eyes, he knew it wasn't her.

But West wasn't letting her go without a fight.


	4. Chapter 4

_A/N: Sorry abut the gap...it's been a bit of a trip. Apologies. Enjoy._

* * *

In the Coliseum, it was explicitly stressed among the entertainment and the bookies that gladiators, seasoned or otherwise, were not allowed to place bets. Immediately after its fruition, the rule was molested and bent within an inch of its life, for security could say nothing to a friendly wager between two fighters...or a greenroom full of them. Since money never hit the counter, it was not technically a bet, but rather banter between colleagues and entirely legal.

The bet Wyrmund and Mari made over whose sponsor would take Savita was lost by both.

Mari's never showed. Wyrmund's, the wife of the man who'd designed half of Reddiqa's modern skyline, had looked her over with the brisk detached nature of a dog show judge.

"You have a nice face and stature, so you're marketable, I suppose," she murmured, orbiting slowly around Savita. "But I'm not sure about...well, the rest of you." She sighed and shook her head, her blonde hair swaying with the movement. "Your stats are average. I was expecting a marvel, the next champion of the ring, by the way Wyrmund had hyped you. Now I'm not so sure." Behind her, Wyrmund made a sparring motion with his hand. Savita took his cue.

"I'm a good fighter," She started.

"Good is not enough. _Everyone_ is a good fighter."

"If be happy to give a demonstration for you, then. If you like-"

"I don't. You don't have the confidence I want. I look at you and I don't see a gladiator."

"Because I'm not one yet."

"And you never will." The woman's tone suggested she didn't want to hear anything else. "It's hard to hear, I know. But you're just in the wrong profession. Try something else alright?" She paused, pursed her pink lips, then offered, "You have a dancer's build. Maybe look into a studio." Savita nodded and gave Wyrmund a remorseful look. He lowered his eyes and walked with his sponsor back to to the lift. Savita could see from where she stood that they were talking quietly and she took a deep breath.

This wasn't the worst thing in the world. All of this had been over a tooth after all; she could survive without it. But to come this far…

She couldn't help but feel a little hurt. When she looked up in the stands where West was waiting, she saw him tilt it in inquiry. _Anything?_ He seemed to ask.

Slowly, defeated, she shook her head. She glanced back and saw Ben talking with a pale blonde man, their faces cool and professional. A tall shadow fell over her as she watched them, and Savita turned to find the director with his walking stick under one arm.

"I knew Halia wouldn't take you," he told her. Off her expression, he added, "Don't take offense, my dear, it's purely statistical. I've known that woman since I first came to the Coliseum; She sees gladiators like prized pedigree animals. Pardon my next statement, but she wouldn't know a pedigree if she was hit in the face with one."

Savita turned to stare at the woman's retreating figure. "She looks like she has one."

"Aye, 'looks' being the key word, mind you. Anyone can look like anything if they try hard enough. Anyway, I knew she wouldn't pick you so I took some liberties and dusted off our law team. Did you know, dear, that there are absolutely no rules prohibiting the Coliseum itself from sponsoring a gladiator?" Looking down, Savita thought about this. Too long, she supposed, because the silver man was talking again. "I reckon I should have done this in the first place what with my stipulations about your tooth, but here we are. I've thought long and hard about this," he looked up at the wide entertainment hall, ancient but still stunning, and smiled at it. His eyes lingered with the pride of an architect. They settled on Savita. "How would you like to fight in the name of this fine Coliseum?" Savita glanced up. Was Westerly watching this? He was. She couldn't see the details of his face from this distance, but he had leaned forward, as if he was straining to hear the conversation. "Well?"

She looked back at the director. "Me," she clarified.

"Certainly. After seeing you practice I'd be honored to extend the invitation. We can have any sort of weaponry and armor you desire commissioned, just say the word. No advertising unless you want it, you have the reins."

"I'd have to think about it," She started.

"To consult with your guardian," The director glanced up at the stands. "I intended on discussing it with him at a later time, but understand, Savi, that you are the one who will be in this ring next week and after, not him. This is your decision. A decision I'm afraid I need now."

This was her only offer. And one that seemed too good to be true.

"What do you get out of it?"

"Nothing," He expanded on her silence. "I'm offering you this opportunity based on your skill and I'd also like to rectify my previous conditions."

"I don't know about that."

"Do you really have a choice?"

There was that. She could always return to the arms room, West would find some primitive way of extracting the roots that would no doubt involve the bottle of whiskey under the sink, and the Galaxy would spin on, but in the scheme of things, this was Savita's only option. She had to take it.

So she held her hand out, looked the director in the eye. "I accept your offer," she said, and he reached out to return the handshake. "And I look forward to defending your honor."

The director turned her hand, leaned down, and kissed it, straightening slowly before tipping his smoky top hat. "Anything you need, my dear. And it won't be my honor you're defending," The stormy man planted his walking stick in the dirt. A miniature puff of dust came off like a shockwave. "It's the Coliseum's. A mountainous task for one so young, but younger have shouldered larger burdens." He gripped her hand then, looking over her shoulder with an intense stare that slowly focused into hostility. Savita narrowed her eyes, then turned to follow his black look.

Singled out from the crowd was Ben, returning an equally frosty expression from behind his sponsor. The director was transfixed for what seemed like eons to Savita, but quickly withdrew his hand and brought his attention back toward the princess. "My lady," he murmured and touched the brim of his hat again before ghosting away like a shiny raincloud.

"Thank you," she called once more. She looked back to Ben again, but he was walking away, his sponsor in the opposite direction. Forgetting West, she followed the rookie. He was a fast walker, mostly because he was tall but also because he apparently had somewhere to be. "Ben," she raised her voice a little so it echoed. He didn't stop. "Hey, Ben," changing her pace to a jog she gained on him, dropping back to a walk as she got close. "Hey."

"Congratulations on your sponsor," he said crisply.

"You walk too fast, friend. And thanks, I'm glad you got a sponsor too. Maybe the First Order caught wind of you in the ring." He stopped suddenly and Savita put on the brakes, a little ahead of him. His face was a mix of suspicion and confusion. She blinked. "Magnes makes quadanium steel. They're known supporters of the First Order," The heir stepped forward. "Everyone knows that."

He considered this, looked down, and walked past her. "I'm from the Core Worlds."

It took Savita a moment to realize he was explaining his ignorance. "Really? Like Coruscant?" She had to practically jog to keep up. He kept walking. "I'm just asking cause I've been there too."

"Sure."

"No, really," Savita pressed. "I've been all over the Galaxy; Corellia, Brentaal, Hosnian Prime, Anobis, Naboo...I even went to Hutt Space but that was an accident," she paused, remembering the two week affair. "I don't know a lot of people around here that have grown up outside of the Three Systems."

Ben nodded. "I kind of jumped between Coruscant and the Hosnian System. My mother travelled a lot, but I...I never went with."

"Did your dad raise you?" Silence. Savita stole a sideways glance. He had a pained look, then it hardened. "It's okay if you don't want to talk about it." He only shifted his jaw. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to stir anythi-"

"You didn't," He cut her off sharply. There was a very pregnant pause, then he added, "I went to a…boarding school, I guess."

She nodded, following him to the stairwell before stopping. "I have to meet West in the arms room," He responded by starting to climb. "By the way, It's okay. The whole dad thing," He froze, one leg on the stair above him. He didn't turn, but the gesture was clear: she had his attention. "I wasn't close to my dad either, even when I was little. Or my mother, I guess. They had jobs that were too busy for me." He turned slightly, and Savita could see him looking vaguely in her direction as she waited at the base of the stairs, fists balled in her pockets. "Like I said, I'm a refugee and uh, when I had to leave, I wasn't sorry."

His eyes dropped down, considering the concrete at his feet. "Good day, Savita." He began to walk again, leaving the girl at the bottom of the stairs.

* * *

Hosnian Prime.

It was a city planet, which set West on edge, but Savita was twelve and didn't know the consequences of a blaster bolt or a knife edge so she saw only the beauty. The speeder that took them to the Senate was new and shiny. The buildings bore her reflection, warping with the shapes and blurring as it whizzed through to their destination. A warm wind stirred her hair and cloak, carved around her fingers as she held her hand out to catch it all. They slowed at a platform flooded with people from all walks of life, queueing at a long strip of counters to reach their scheduled hearings.

West paid the driver, stepped out, and lifted Savita to the worn walkway. He checked his watch. "It's five AM standard and it's already like this," he muttered. It was mostly to himself, but Savita acknowledged the complaint all the same and shoved her hands in her pockets. She wore flight pants and old hunting boots under a green long sleeve shirt, the grey travel cloak now folded over one arm while the other shielded a yawn.

"The Queen ought to have told this Senator we were coming," She commented finally as West checked the datapad Queen Elia had given him.

"Ease up, sassy," West gathered the princess's hand in his and led her to the one nearest them, steering her in front of him. "We have a letter or recommendation, not a letter of agreement. We're lucky she did that much."

Savita only leaned on West's arm and exhaled. They had arrived six hours ago, jet lagged from the time differentiation. West had dipped into the scant amount of credits they had left to sleep in a hotel, then half an hour before now, West had prodded the heir apparent awake. She was still exhausted. West let her drowse, guiding her forward as the line began to shorten for them.

"State your sector and your business, please," a Zabrak man, still polite from his recent arrival, smiled pleasantly. West slid the datapad under the partition.

"Mid Rim. We have a letter of recommendation from the Queen of Naboo."

A quick scan and he hummed his approval. "Just you and the girl?"

"Yes," The man touched a button and two paper slips poked out of a reader.

"Take these to security," he set them on the datapad and pushed it all back under the glass. "They'll hold those knives for you."

West nodded his thanks and nudged Savita, who sleepily trudged alongside her guard as they pushed through the turnstile and into the courtyard, wide and manicured and absolutely filled with people.

"Stay close," West told Savita. She nodded. They left their weaponry, knives and a blaster, at the security checkpoint, received the tracking wristbands, and checked their bags. Savita's state didn't improve. She stumbled alongside West, yawning every few steps while he followed the signs and the current of people into the Senate building, a high, stocky architectural colossus with rotund columns, massive windows, and impossibly huge banners bearing the sigil of the New Republic. Sleepy though she was, Savita paused a few times to appreciate the sheer enormity of the democratic forum.

Inside, high ceilings were brightly lit and mirrored, reflecting the patterned marble below and the citizens who crossed it. Each step echoed, joining the white noise of conversation and burbling fountains which were precisely aligned in a perfect circle. At the nucleus, an equally round reception desk took and redistributed them. West steered Savita away from the plush couches sprinkling the innards and presented the datapad to a human receptionist, who inspected it closely and pointed West to a nearby love seat, promising that he would be collected shortly.

"Finally," Savita dropped onto the couch, coiling her cloak in her lap. She slumped onto West's arm as he sat down next to her, and after a few moments she was out, dead to the world and the Galaxy. "Shortly" turned into two hours, and while the princess on his arm snoozed, West fidgeted and kept watch. He rearranged her, balling the cloak up in his lap and moving her there, absently combing through her hair as he peoplewatched.

Two hours became three. Four. West watched the time and counted the amount of rotations the hologram of the Galaxy above the reception desk made. At noon, Savita stirred, sat up, and looked with bleary eyes around her. "Feel better?" West asked, offering her a canister of water. She nodded and took it, leisurely sipping while she peered at the world.

"It's midday," Savita observed.

"No shit," This earned a withering stare from the princess, so West followed with, "The Senator's busy. We came here without an appointment and if she grants us two minutes before office hours close, then we take those two minutes."

Savita made a noise like a faulty engine and handed back the canister, stretching her arms out, then her legs, and finally her back, twisting until her spine popped and set West's teeth on edge. She exhaled and flopped back, slouching so her feet almost touched the ground. A touch of West's annoyance flared up, but he reminded himself of the girl's age and reached down to dig in his own bag.

"Are you hungry?" He pulled out a bag of grapes, which Savita declined, then requested an hour later. He took them away when she started throwing them up in the air to eat them. "You'll choke."

"Maybe we'll get in faster then," She slid further down in her seat, grumbling and slipping until her back was on the seat and her legs dangled off onto the floor. West finally broke and leaned back, tapping Savita's leg to get her to sit up. She obliged, reluctantly, then reached up and ran a hand through his hair. West had let his hair grow shaggy since credits were becoming scarce, feathery and poker straight and, lately, the chief object of Savita's fascination. Before she even spoke, he knew what she would ask. Cutting to the chase, he leaning his head over.

"You can braid it," he allowed. Savita happily set to work. The guard made himself look at dejected as possible while she wove his hair into rows of perfect plaits, leaving them unsecured until she had his entire head sectioned out. She combed it out with her fingers, then began to work on something more intricate. A Twi'lek woman at the reception desk peeked up at her progress every now and again, which didn't escape West's notice. It took the edge of Savita's boredom though and that was all that mattered, lest she become unbearably annoying and in some cases, destructive. She finished and moved on to her hair, leaning forward so it was easier on her arms. A handful of rubber bands rested on her thigh. "What did you do?" Westerly reached up to touch his own, but Savita paused her work and pulled his wrist away.

"Don't touch it. It's perfect."

"What is?" But Savita didn't answer and continued twisting and braiding her hair until it was all off her back and shoulders, tucked into a neat updo with tiny braids leading into it, secured with her hair ties. Carefully, she plucked out a few short tendrils. For a twelve year old's attempt, it looked decent. West could only imagine how his own hair was.

"How do I look?" She turned so West could see it from different angles. "Nothing's sticking out right?"

"It looks fine," He replied and she smiled.

"Well, now we both look fine."

And she reached up and touched what Westerly could only assume was a braid on the side of his head.

The Twi'lek woman approached them not long after with a courteous smile.

"Senator Organa will see you now."

* * *

For some reason, the Director had insisted on providing her with a hairdresser. She was silent for the entire time she was in the apartment, and West watched from the couch as the human woman stripped all the wave from her hair, pulled it into a ponytail, and dyed the bottom of the tail red before washing it in the sink. As it dried, the wave bounced back, leaving her head smooth but the rest with cocoa and crimson body. Savita thanked her, and the woman only nodded as she gathered her things and left.

The rest of Savita was silver and red to match the Coliseum, chromium plated armor, fabric the color of blood, and dark leather where metal was too much and textile too little. The Coliseum's emblem, a "C" with columns filling the curve, was stamped on her shoulder protectors and the top left strap of her breastplate. Her pants were tan and unguarded.

On deck, where the pair usually hung out, distributing weapons to the night's entertainment, a double bladed spear made of mullinine and steel waited for her. West speculated in private that the Director had paid a smith extra to clear his standing commissions. Savita had only been pleased.

Seamstresses and designers had measured her whole body, the director offered to move them to the entertainment wing, with nicer accommodations. West had declined. Hair and makeup artists offered their expertise, the latter of which Savita had no experience in and requested no assistance with. A personal chef was offered to them. Also declined, this time by both. The faint memories of being waited on hand and foot returned in a rush and Savita maintained her courtesies the way West had taught her but secretly relished the attention. She preened in the mirror, admiring the sheen of the armor and the glossy brightness of the red in her hair. West had witnessed a similar display when she'd received the armor.

"It's not going anywhere, you know," he said snarkily. The princess looked over, broken from her trance. "Eat something before I leave, please."

"I told you, I'm not hungry."

"You'll regret it," West sighed, and took his own dishes to the sink. "You're about to exert the hell out of yourself on a empty stomach and on top of that you're nervous. You'll pass out in the ring if you aren't careful."

"Whoever said I was nervous?" Savita strolled out of the bathroom and looked at the food West had set out. "I'm not."

"Sure?" When she nodded, he pointed to the table, "Then eat something."

"I'm not hungry."

"Is that it? Or is it because you're nauseous?" Silence. "Trust me, you're better off forcing something down."

She sat down and stared at the plate, then picked up a single noodle from the plate. She considered it.

"Are you trying to find the meaning of life in that noodle?" She shot him a nasty glare from her peripheral vision. "Just eat it."

"Do we have any grapes?"

"Savita, eat the noodle."

She turned to him, stuck the noodle in her mouth and swallowed. West placed his hands together as if praying and mouthed "thank you" before picking up his gloves and stuffing them in a pocket.

"These noodles are gross."

"It's only cause you're not hungry," West told her. "Keep eating. I have to get down to the ring, so I'll see you before your match."

"Mhm," Savita stirred her noodles.

"Hey," Her head popped up to look at him. "Eat."

She stuck her tongue out until he shut the door, but ate, managing half the plate before she dumped the rest and turned the news on for background noise. She paced, catching snippets of what was going on in the Galaxy and practicing stances while she counted down the minutes. When she got bored of that, she sat in different places around the apartment and talked herself out of throwing up. The green room opened at five, and it was one of the undisputed rules of the Coliseum that if you were planning on fighting that night, you had to be there within the hour or your name was pulled from the lineup.

At quarter til, she shut everything down and left to the greenroom, catching the last of the check-in line. Immediately, she searched out Mari and Wyrmund, who were there even though they weren't scheduled to be in the ring for two days. Ben wasn't there, she noticed, and she also became hyper-aware of the noise and smell of the room that sent her stomach rolling.

' _Damn your noodles!'_ She could feel them burning like hot oil in her stomach, and she cursed West's insistence as she looked around, finally finding Mari by the window. The Coliseum was filling rapidly.

"You look nauseous," she immediately said. "Nerves?"

"West said it would go away if I ate," She said.

"No," Mari shook her head. "It goes away when your match starts," Off Savita's expression, she patted the seat next to her and palmed her an anti-nausea pill. "You'll have to register for them with the physician, but I keep a few extras when the rookies come in. You're a dainty bunch."

"Thank you," Savita said, and covertly swallowed it, borrowing Mari's water.

"You're welcome. But you didn't get that from me."

"Of course."

The greenroom, or "The Deck" as it was referred to by spectators, overlooked a short part of the elliptical ring, sitting just above the main entrance for quick access. The glass was the sort used on starships and curved in, serving as part of the ring's wall. It gave the night's entertainment a chance to watch alongside the crowd, with the inside furnished to accommodate half the Coliseum's gladiators. It was decorated with large tiles, minimal carpeting, indestructible light fixtures, and sturdy yet comfortable furniture that was replaced each season. A pair of wallscreens displayed the night's lineup and a bracket tree of who would advance to the next round, each one constantly updating while a third offered the fights as they were filmed and broadcast, including play-by-plays and commercials. Along the back wall was a fully stocked bar, complete with the strongest glassware in the Unknown Regions. Because drunk sentients who fight each other for a living tend to be rowdy and drop things.

In a corner, though, well away from the debauchery occurring in the center of the room, Mari and Savita passed the time in silence, which automatically made her uncomfortable.

Savita was chatty by nature, or as West put it, 'altogether far too trustworthy of the Galaxy's residents', and that, paired with an anti-nausea pill that had yet to activate, she was itching for a distraction. If the smell of alcohol wouldn't have made her situation ten times worse, she would have joined Wyrmund, a sentient who fought other sentients for a living and, regardless of inebriation, was rowdy and dropped things.

Instead, she fidgeted until the pill took affect, calming her stomach but not her nerves.

"Breathe," Mari told her.

"I am."

"Deeper." And she did, inhaling and exhaling as deep as she could while hour passed and the matches began to go. The brackets started to shift as they ended, and finally the escort boy was in calling her name, and Savita realized the anti-nausea pill had worn off.

"I'm gonna throw up."

"Breathe," Mari told her. "And good luck. You'll do fine as long as you keep your head. Breathe." And Savita was walking, acknowledging encouragement from those who knew her. Wyrmund, deeply drunk, clapped her shoulder as she walked past.

"Give 'em a good thrashing," he slurred, then his face disappeared into an ale filled glass.

Down the stairs she went, into the entrance where West held her spear.

"Good luck," He rolled it into her hands, perfectly balanced and finely crafted for such short notice. The girl ahead of her, her opponent, made no attempt to speak with her. She saw the weapon in her hands though, the fine gold she was draped in and the armor coated with brass polish.

There was a stillness, then an eruption of cheers, and a man in front of her gave the girl a brisk push. She jogged out into the ring, ignoring the cheers until she took her place in the center of the ring. And then it was Savita's turn, a hard shove on _her_ shoulder, and _she_ was running, the spear at her side and the the dirt giving slightly under her feet.

Surprisingly, the spotlights were hot. Savita didn't know that was possible, but her face was warm as if she were in the sun and she was equally blinded. She narrowed her eyes into a hard squint and hoped her eyes got used to it.

High above, cheering was as thick and celestial as a rainstorm, clouding the heavens and pouring onto Savita and her opponent, Riché Wyo, a girl who matched her in height with olive skin and straight black hair down to her waist. The bangs had been pulled away and up in an artful knot at the top of her head, and she was thin like Mari. Her hands rested idly on the hilts of twin blades, tucked under each arm and, much like her hair, perfectly straight. She tapped the pyramidal pommels in unison as Savita slowed to a walk and made her way to the center of the ring, avoiding the blood from the previous match. The announcers were quick to take note of that.

"Careful not to sully those expensive boots, I see," One, a Reddiqan male who remained faceless said. "The Coliseum must have given her lessons in etiquette."

"I hear she's a snob all on her own," Two added. His diction suggested Coruscant, but the media suggested that the accent was strictly acting. It was known, though, that he was human.

The director chose this moment to chime in from his box. "Wouldn't we like to believe that," he contributed, "That such a poised girl might turn out to be hideous on the inside. It'd make us all feel a bit better about ourselves."

"Indeed, it's certainly make One feel better if that were true," Two replied. "But nonetheless her fighting is her true test of character; Reddiqa will evaluate her on such and nothing else."

"Aye,"The director agreed.

Riché was having similar thoughts, unbeknownst to the spectators. The referee joined them on the field and made them shake hands, asked for final thoughts and climbed back into his buggy. Her hand was warm, Riché noticed, and she looked sturdier that she was. Stocky. Some cultures might even say a bit fat. With her hair dyed and fastened, her person clad in classically styled armor, she looked polished and gladiatorial, but her face was all wrong.

"You look too soft to be a gladiator," Riché told her. It wasn't to be spiteful, just candid. Such was the way she had been raised. It had teased out no reaction however, and Savita spun her spear over one hand and took a step back. Riché responded in a similar fashion, then dropped the chain on the blade in her right hand.

Sure that Savita watched, she connected the chain to the hilt of the other blade and began to spin them like nunchucks. They all but disappeared in a whirling cyclone of steel, over her arms, around her abdomen and Savita's only thought was that West had said she would be easy pickings. Obviously she'd been practicing since then.

Riché finished with the blades hanging over one shoulder, garnering applause from the audience. She brushed it off, staring Savita down.

' _Give 'em a show,'_ The princess remembered, and gave the spear one final twirl before advancing. When she brought it down on Riché, she met it with a blade. Savita was strong, and if she'd had a bit more time she could have pressed it down and won the match. But with a free hand, Riché had the second blade arcing in to hit her arm so she pulled away, bouncing in again and going for her legs. Suddenly, the tip of the same sword was swinging before her eyes, dragging her away from Riché's close proximity.

In a smooth motion, Riché twirled the blades over her hands and swung the free one in a circle, like the blade of an electric fan.

"Hm," Riché's appraisal was barely audible above the cheering, but Savita heard it. The girl tilted her head, thinking, then moved in, lashing out with the swinging blade. Savita knocked it aside easily, but spun away as her opponent turned the second one to plunge into her armor. Riché was on her again though, relentlessly hitting her with the blades while Savita was on defense. Riché forced her back, and Savita had no idea of how much until she raised the spear to block again and it scraped the side of the Coliseum.

Fear. She felt fear. Her mind funnelled down to one thought, and Savita gritted her teeth and pushed forward like a bull, catching the chain in the shaft of her spear and forcing Riché off her feet. She threw the swords away. Panting, Savita gripped her spear and let her concentration shatter, straightening, stepping back. Riché sat in the dust, barely jostled by what had just happened.

The cheers were becoming deafening, almost too much for Savita to bear, and she let the spear fall off her palms and into her fingers. Her hands hurt from squeezing it too hard. She straightened one hand, then the other, gritting her teeth in pain.

' _I can't be hitting a wall now!'_

Her heartbeat was in her ears, cancelling the Coliseum's noise and she shook her head to clear it. Her heart moved back to her chest, but became so prominent she could feel it ramming against her ribs.

' _Get it together. You've trained for years, you're stronger than this. Than_ her. _Breathe.'_

She inhaled, exhaled, and started to settle her rampant heart rate. It was then that Savita noticed Riché's twin blades discarded in the dirt. Not quite sure what she ought to do next, she leaned down and picked them up. The chain had broken. It hadn't been dainty, that much Savita knew, and she was shocked to see it mangled, a link pulled open from too much force on it. She looked around. Riché was getting back on her feet. The spotlights were still pooling around them, and the cheers were beginning to take a new tempo.

"Finish her. Finish her! Finish HER! FINISH HER!"

Riché was staring at her, honorable resignation in her eyes and her head bent. She was waiting for Savita to end the match.

"FINISH HER!"

 _Oh._

"FINISH HER!"

 _OH._

"FINISH HER!"

Savita looked down at the swords in her hand, then to Riché. And she turned them in her hands. And she held them out to the girl.

"It wouldn't feel right," Savita shouted over the noise, walking closer. People were beginning to boo. Riché stared at the weapons in her hand, almost distrustfully. "Take them."

Without a word, her opponent slowly lifted them out of the heir's hands, studying the swords. Savita backed up, holding her spear on the defense.

Riché met Savi's eyes, then fast as a snake, she lashed out. Savita moved to the side and hit her with the flat of her blade into the dirt. The boos were stopping, the applause escalating once more as Riché scrambled to her feet. Savita changed hands before leaning in for a swipe, something the olive skinned girl was able to bat aside. Terrahi's crown princess kept hitting. Strike after strike, Riché was able to parry every one and finally land a blow on Savita, hitting her in the side. She barely felt it and used the opportunity to hit the the opposite sword out of Riché's hand. She cried out. Immediately, Savita felt remorse, but didn't let up and instead moved between her and the blade, pressing her back with the shaft of the spear. It gave Riché time to prepare, to get a better grip on her remaining weapon and examine her hand, nicked but otherwise just jarred from the impact of Savita's spear.

That was all the time she had before the Terrahitian was on her again, intent on finishing in a win. So Riché got her in close where the spear couldn't reach, pulled back, and decked her with her sword hilt. It slammed into her cheekbone. Savita's balance was thrown, leaving her stumbling off to one side, dazed, in pain, and as she began to recover, disarmed. The spear, Riché wrenched out of her hand and tossed behind her, then brought her foot into Savita's ribs. She groaned, dropped to the ground, a bruise starting to form where Riché had hit and her eyes wild as the girl came down her her with the sword.

Instinctively, Savita reached up and caught her wrist. Riché froze. Her eyes were dark but the shock was evident, reflected by Savi who was equally baffled by what she'd done. After a pause, both girls seemed to register the situation and leapt into action, Riché twisting to get out of her grip while Savita squeezed and twisted with her, spinning in the dirt before kicking Riché's legs out from under her. She sank to her knees, allowing Savita to grapple onto her and drag her to the ground, rolling in the dust toward her spear. Riché screamed.

Above them, the referee began to hover toward the ground, the whistle at his lips and his feet on the edge of the craft in preparation to call the match.

Riché continued screaming, howling directly into Savita's ear in an attempt to disorient her. She flinched, naturally, but continued her crocodile roll until she was close enough to grab the spear, able to feel the cool metal at her fingertips. Then, in one violent shake, she wrestled Riché's armed hand under her knee. The other arm she forced to the ground, then reached out for her spear. Riché smacked her head into Savita's. Her last resort. She saw stars, her ears rang, and by leaning back and she lost control over her swordless hand. Before she could stop it, it had snaked up to tear at her face. Riché was trying to take an eye. Her nails tore down her cheek, and Savita's frantic attempts to regain a hold on the free hand were futile. She was too fast.

Moving closer to Riché's arm to force it down at the bicep meant risking her hooking out her eye, something she was actively avoiding.

With no other choice, Savita slammed down on Riché, ramming her forehead to forehead. She could smell the pain again, like when Riché had done it earlier and when West had knocked her tooth out, but this was enough to delay Riché enough to get her head under control again to reach her spear. Seizing it by the blade, she sat up and aimed it at her opponent's throat, pressing the tip in as deep as she could. The ref was at her side immediately. He swiped his hands under her line of sight, blew the whistle, and pulled Savita off of Riché. Holding her by the wrist, he announced Savita as the victor.

Her head swam. Riché sat up, teeth clenched in pain, and Savita dropped down next to her, held out her hand.

"Nice match," She grinned. "You almost got me with that headbutt."

Wordless, Riché shook her hand, staggered to her feet, and stalked off, leaving Savita there. She didn't even bother to collect the other blade.

Savita gathered her own weapon, then picked the blade up a few lengths off. She followed Riché out of the ring, smiling halfheartedly at the crowd and waving. Her cheek burned from the bruise and the scratches, her ribs from being kicked, her head from smacking it twice. If she was being honest with herself, she was a bit dizzy. When she made it out, she found Riché ripping into West.

"You tampered with my swords! Those blades were connected by the finest steel in the Unknown Regions and she _broke_ them! In half!"

"The shaft twisted it, miss," West replied calmly. "The way things happened in the ring, paired with the age of the-"

"The age? They're a year old! You bent a link on purpose because you wanted her to win."

"The blades are a year old. The chain is sixteen."

"Now you're just making excuses. I'll have you investigated," She stepped back, finally noticing Savita. "And you," She rounded on her, provoking the security guards present to step in, a hand on her shoulder and one retraining Savita. She, after all, was more heavily armed and, according to the match she'd won, dangerous than Riché. "You think you're safe because you have the director under your thumb," She leaned in. "I will have you ripped to pieces in the coming rounds. You will wish I'd torn your eye out in that ring," She took her other sword from Savita, pushed them both into Westerly's chest, and strode away, fury marking her every movement. The guards moved away. West reached out, pulling Savita closer. He took the spear from her then looked her over, taking in her injuries.

"Do you feel dizzy?" Savita nodded and he looked up at the guards. "Can you get a medic, please?" As one rushed off, he smiled. "Well, well done, Savi, first match and you already have someone out to kill you. That's an accomplishment."

Savita nodded returned the grin. "I won," she said stupidly. West laughed.

"Yeah, you did. Congratulations, Savi, I'm proud of you."

"Me too," she rested her he'd on his shoulder.

"Hey, none of that. Stay awake til the medic is here, I think you have a concussion."

"I think I do too, West. She tried to rip out my eye."

"And that would have been a horrible shame, because you would look terrible with an eyepatch."

"I'd have to retrain."

"Move aside please, I'm here."

A medic, a sentient, human medic, was scurrying up, escorted by a nurse and the security guard. He shined a flashlight in her eyes.

"Those still work, so that's not too bad, but we ought to move you to the treatment bay. Come on."

"I'll send Wyrmund or Mari down."

"Mari," Savita told him. "Wyrmund is way too drunk."

"Got it."

The medic carted her off, sat her on a bed, and did a scan of her brain. "That's a concussion, alright," he nodded confirmation. "The only thing you can do is rest. We'll keep you here for a bit just to keep an eye on you and I can give you a pain pill if it hurts. Does it?"

"Yeah."

So the medic procured a painkiller and a cup of water and Savita swallowed it, then he laid an icepack over her head to bring the swelling down and let her be.

"Push that button if you need anything," He told her, then wandered off the his desk in the corner. Savita laid back, folding her hands on her stomach. Not long after, Mari came in to keep her company until she fell asleep, prodded awake by the nurse later on as he checked her head and did another scan. The medic discharged her and Mari helped her back to West, who carried her to the apartment while she fell asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

_**A/N:** I would have posted this chapter two weeks ago, but around the time it was almost finished, I started reading_ Bloodline _and I liked it so much that I wanted to used the plot for my story. Which meant I had to rewrite A LOT of this chapter, without disturbing what I already have out. But it's done, and even though school starts up again for me soon, there shall be no more delays. Expect a chapter every (hopefully) two weeks from here on out. I promise I will not write another chapter that jumps around as much as this one does, but I had to do a lot of flashback sequences before the next chapter because I have no room for them._

 _I've also started a Pinterest account with visuals for this story, so feel free to check it out. I'll update it as the story goes on, but it's under the same username._

 _Enjoy. Thank you so much for the follows, the favorites, the reviews, and lastly, the patience. You're a fantastic audience._

* * *

Four years of living side by side in what was honestly a nomadic lifestyle had given West and Savita a relationship that resembled a father and his daughter, a teacher and his pupil, and at certain times, companions. But when the stars sat just right in the sky, and Savita was particularly insistent about doing something, she pulled rank.

"Sir Westerly Reed, as your future queen and crown princess of Terrahi, I command you to let me look at this fountain."

And West, despite his thorough impatience with it, would be forced by his code of honor and his Royal oath to obey. Even if it meant they were slightly late for a meeting that could determine the fate of their home.

'She is twelve…' He reminded himself and let her look, counting the precious seconds. The fountain was made of precisely cut stone and served as a fixed point around which eight hallways branched, water from the four tiers spewing in each direction like the arms of a compass. The fountain's base was wide and round, so large that West had to wonder what it was doing on the eighth floor of a Senate building and not outside with the rest of the decorative architecture. Savita seemed enamoured by it.

"Savi, I must remind you of the importance of this meeting," West prodded. "We have to go."

"Just a second," There were stubborn tones in her voice.

"It will be here when we come back."

"Will he?"

"Who?" Savita lifted a hand and pointed across the fountain to a boy sitting in the fountain's edge, cross legged and with his hands in his lap...meditating? West narrowed his eyes. "If he's here when we get back, you can tell him hello, but we must get going. The Senator will be wondering where we are."

"Weeeeesst….." She began to protest.

"Savita, I'm afraid I have to insist."

For a moment, when she turned her eyes on him, he could have sworn that she was about to command him again. Then her expression changed and she looked past him in dumbstruck awe, and when he looked he almost made the same face. A woman in the most stunning style of dress he'd ever seen was making her way down one of the long corridors, and if West wasn't mistaken, they were her destination. Her perfect white teeth practically shone when she smiled at them.

"Good evening," she told them. "My name is Lady Carise Sindian, representative of Arkanis. You're to see Senator Organa?"

"That's right."

"I'd like to extend apologies on her behalf, sir. She's been called out for a meeting, but not to worry, she's left you both in my care."

"She's not in?" West put a hand on Savita's shoulder.

"No, unfortunately. This never happens and once again, I'm deeply sorry, but she's allowed me to hear your case on her behalf. It's only temporary, of course, and she'll be able to pick up where I leave off, but she felt bad about having to leave right as you were coming to see her. I have a proof of summons for you as well, so you'll be able to return straight away tomorrow to see Senator Organa." West looked at the datapad she had in her hands, and she angled it so he could see better. Savita even stretched up on her tiptoes to look.

It looked official. The woman's picture, the seals, an ornate header. West had no experience within the Senate to tell him that the document Lady Sindian had put before him was anything but genuine, so he nodded his approval.

"Pleasure to meet you," He extended a hand. "My name is Westerly."

"And your beautiful companion?" She shook his hand daintily and dropped a little to look at Savita. She preened under the woman's gaze and blushed slightly.

"This is Princess Savita. My ward."

"A princess?" The young senator's smiled widened if at all possible. "Yes, of course such a beauty would be associated to royal blood. Though any of the Elder Houses need only request an appointment, sir."

"Her Grace is not affiliated with them," West leaned in. "I would prefer that we discuss this in private, Senator, it's a sensitive subject."

"Oh," Concern registered in her eyes. "Please follow me, then," She gestured to one of the lifts. As the doors closed, Lady Carise saw the boy on the fountain and broke into a sweat, because that boy was Ben Solo.

And maybe, just maybe, he had seen them.

* * *

Savita was sitting drowsily alongside the practice ring when Kylo Ren dropped down next to her, a pair of apples in one hand.

"I watched your match last night," he told her. "Congratulations." Sullenly, Savita thanked him, pulled her feet up on the bench, and watched the two fighters on the floor. Riché was one, fluidly dragging down her opponent time and time again. She could hardly believe, watching her, that she hadn't lost yesterday. "Is something wrong?"

At that, Savita's lips curled up slightly and she shook her head twice. "It's nothing."

"I doesn't sound like nothing," he prodded. Man, it'd been a long time since he'd cared enough to pursue this sort of thing.

"Well it is." Kylo turned to watch Riché and the man he'd talked to last week in the halls practicing hand-to hand combat on the mats. He eyed Savita, her face a mask of concentration, the kind of dead-to-the-Galaxy look people got when they were fully trained on a wallscreen or a datapad. She looked almost brain dead, with shadows under her eyes and her mouth in a somber frown. "I think I got lucky last night, that's all."

Instead of immediately replying, he offered her one of the apples he'd brought with. "Want one?" Savita raised an eyebrow at it, then smiled and accepted. She inspected the surface, so he added, "I didn't poison it, if that's what you're worried about." A grin. Teeth. Finally he was doing something right. She bit into it and he followed tentatively, then watched the match with her. "She's not quick on her feet."

"Sorry?" Savita kept watching the match, but made a confused face.

"She's skilled, but the only reason she's winning is because she knows him and how he fights," Kylo clarified. "So although she has more skill than you-"

"Thanks," Savita replied with a snort.

"She can't improvise. And when you got her on the ground, she panicked because you're bigger than her and she broke the only rule that matters when you're fighting someone bigger or stronger than you: stay on your feet."

"Are…" Savita held up her apple. "You saying I won 'cause I'm fat?"

Kylo's look was chastising, his tone defensive. "You know perfectly well what I meant."

Savita met his stare, reached up with the apple, and took a bite, not breaking eye contact. Then she grinned with the chunk in her teeth and snickered around it. "I was joking," she told him when she swallowed. "But I totally get what you're saying now. About thinking fast."

"You didn't get lucky, though," Kylo told her, already down to the core. "You won because you were better."

"That's nice of you to say," Below them, the pair were wrapping up.

Kylo noted that the service window for the arms room was open and asked, "are you waiting for…" He trailed off, pointing toward the window.

"West?" Savita clarified. "Yeah. I can't go in there anymore but he wants me nearby just in case."

"In case?"

"Something happens," She noticed Kylo's inquisitive look and folded her arms over her shins. "I can't talk about it."

"Why not?"

"I can't talk about it."

Kylo decided not to push. He changed the subject. "I need apologize for last week," He held the apple against his bottom lip like he was going to take another bite, then continued, "I was being…an...ass," He struggled to get the word out. "to you about my father and I shouldn't have done that."

"Everyone has a tragic backstory," Savita's eyes, the color of vibrant leaves, followed Riché and her partner out of the room. "But I'm not gonna forgive you yet."

"And why's that?"

"Cause I want you to keep me company during tonight's matches." This was a surprise to Kylo; she was making the first move. She was watching him, searching for his reaction, and he realized that maybe his stunned silence could be translated as looking for a poor excuse to back out. If she looked deterred, she didn't show it. He could feel it though. The fear. That maybe he might not say yes. Did she like having him around?

"How do you know I'm not in the lineup?"

"They posted it this morning, doofus," She stood up, balanced on her platforms and chucked her apple core at the trash can at the bottom of the benches. It bounced off the rim and onto the floor. Savita settled back to her feet, scoffing in defeat. Partly out of playfulness and partly out of spite, he beaned the core straight in with minimal effort, which was met with a contentious laugh and a "nice shot" from Savita. He followed her down as she went to retrieve her core.

"Anyway, my seat has a better view than your wallscreen," She went on. Kylo wanted to tell her that he didn't need to be convinced. She walked to the window and leaned in. "West!"

"Yes?"

"I'm going to the cafeteria."

"Wait ten minutes, okay?" From where he stood, Kylo saw him in the doorway, holding a clipboard. "I just have to finish this."

"No, it's okay, I have a friend," West looked up at Kylo, who tried to look as innocent and pleasant as possible. He managed a wave and a smile that was really him pursing his lips into a line that curved up. Westerly walked to the window.

"I don't believe I've met this friend," He said, and Kylo automatically stepped forward.

"I'm Ben Schae," he held a hand out.

"From where?"

"Ben's from Hosnian Prime," Savita told him. "He's been all over the Core Worlds."

"I see," West took his arm, his hand closing near the base of his elbow. Terrahitian handshake. Of course. His fingers were tight into his skin. "Doing what?"

Kylo adapted to the handshake and held it. "I travel a lot. Odd jobs, mostly. I was a radar technician for a while for the Republic fleet."

"He did a job for the First Order too." His grip on Kylo's arm slackened, and he dropped his arm.

"What job was that?"

"It wasn't anything I wanted to do, but I recovered an officer for them. Some top brass guy on Aristophane."

"A little far from the Hosnian System."

"I was travelling," He said. "I wanted to see the Galaxy so I quit my job and jumped around planets. I was on my way here when I had that run-in."

"Interesting," West folded his arms. "That must be why they sponsored you."

"Sorry?"

"Magnes Corps," West told him. "They're a big First Order supporter."

"I told him that already, West," Savita propped her face on her hands. "Can I go? Does he pass the test?"

He made a face, then disappeared and came back with a water canister and a container of food. "Come back when you're done."

Savita thanked him and left, Kylo Ren in tow.

"Sorry about that," She murmured.

"Does he do that to everyone?" Kylo was a little indignant.

"He's just keeping me safe," she explained, slowing down to walk next to him.

"You must be quite a commodity," It was a risky comment, but he made it anyways. She only snorted in a very convincing way.

"I'm no one special."

 _What a lie. Let's see how far this goes._

"You said you were a refugee."

"That's the broad term, yes."

"What's the narrow term?"

"Nosy."

"You don't have to tell me."

Savita started to speak, then hesitated. "I'm from Terrahi."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning I fled when the First Order took occupation."

"Why?"

"The draft," Kylo began to put it together. Her lie.

"You left with West."

She paused again. "How much do you know about the politics here?"

"Not a lot," He admitted. "I know this region is very monarchical."

"There are three systems in frequent communication with each other. By oldest to youngest, they are the Terrahitian, Cassadani, and Reddiqan systems," Savita paused. "Strap in. It's riveting."

"Go on," Kylo urged.

"The Terrahitian System is the most respected because its government is the oldest. The way it works is that the ruling monarch divides his power into barons; two hundred and fifty to be exact. And each baron guards a part of the land for the King, an appointment made on merit and controlled by the people. It's not necessarily an elected office, but rather a nomination done when the citizens of that certain sector were unhappy with the present baron. And before I left, I worked for one of them."

"On Terrahi?"

"Well that's where they all are, aren't they?"

"Which one?"

"You wouldn't know them," she balked. Kylo Ren only shook his head, determined to catch her in the lie.

"So why can't you tell me?"

She paused, then let out a slow breath. "Traemon Brystol," she said. "Near the North Pole. It's close to the capital."

"And West?"

"He was an arms keeper in the palace. He got me the job and pulled me off the streets."

"I see now; West raised you."

"Basically," She shrugged. "I had nowhere else to go."

"And your real father?"

"West was more a father to me than my real father ever was," She stopped outside the cafeteria, a little surprised at her bitter tone. "You can't tell him I told you that," Savita thought about that, then exhaled sharply. "You can't tell him I told you any of that." She waved him into the room and they took a table near the center, empty except for a few crumbs, which she swept to the ground.

"So why did you come to the Coliseum?"

"We ran out of money," Savita opened her water bottle and took a drink. "Work here's steady. If you're looking for a career that has a reliable pay, you should stay here. Once you can't fight anymore you can work as staff. You get free medical."

"But not dental?"

Savita gave him a questioning look and opened her food. He could see her tongue absently probing the gap from behind her lip. "How'd you find out about that?"

"I was there when you lost the tooth."

"In the stands?" Savita began to eat. Suddenly realisation dawned on her and her eyes widened. She pointed. "By the top entry, right? You came in from administration."

"Yeah."

"I remember," She nodded. "Yeah, the only way to get dental is if you're fighting, cause you're more likely to get one knocked out."

"So why didn't you pay for it yourself?"

"You ask a lot of questions," She told him. "For someone so closed off, you're very prying."

"Ask me something then," He offered. "Anything."

She narrowed her eyes, thinking and chewing her lip. "I know," She smiled. Grinned. Her teeth were slightly crooked in the front. He hadn't noticed that before. "What's your favorite color?"

"That's it?"

She nodded. "You said anything."

"Any question and you pick my favorite color," He shook his head, then slipped his hand under the table to dig his nails into his leg. It was happening again. A coolness in his chest, as if his heart was beginning to pump cold water instead of blood. "It's red."

"Okay," She tilted her head to the side. "To answer your question, replacements are super expensive if you're not a gladiator. We have money lying around, but not that much."

She was good. She was _very_ good. West was doing his job very well. "Ask me something else."

"What's your favorite planet?"

"You're ridiculous," He told her, and she laughed. "But I don't have one."

"How can you not have a favorite planet?"

"I'm holding out."

"For paradise?" He didn't answer but stared past the table and into space, lost in thought. "How about…" She paused. "Tell me why you left Hosnian Prime."

His dark eyes flicked up to hers. "I thought I said already that I wanted to travel."

"Is that the real reason though?" She asked, leaning forward. "You don't just take off and start doing work on ships and in the Coliseum."

"Why not?"

"Because no one just does that. No one without a mission, anyway." Kylo only shrugged. She drew a leg up into the chair. "Well, I'm glad you did leave," She said to her food. Another rush of water. He was in very real danger of puncturing five holes in his thigh.

Satisfied, silence set in as Savita began to eat. She concentrated on her food, never looking up as she rotated through each part of her meal. Kylo began to memorize the details of her face. The shadow of a faint bruise on the left side of her chin, the pink scratches pouring down her right, and like an animal caged behind them, a deep, ugly, violet bruise on her cheekbone. But other than her injuries, she hadn't changed a bit. Dark skin, darker hair, eyes bright for balance. Still recognizable, still regal, still beautiful. He was surprised no one had turned her in yet. And the means by which they found her...Westerly was very well trained. He knew what he was doing and Kylo took heed not to forget that. Extraction would be tricky, indeed.

But he was not the Supreme Leader's apprentice for show.

"So where's this great seat at? The Director's Box?"

Savita only grinned. "Even better."

* * *

In the Senate, the only truly quiet place Ben could ever find was fountain on the same floor as his mother's office. The burbling water hid most noises and allowed him to concentrate better, since separating his thoughts from his center was something he struggled to accomplish, which troubled Uncle Luke.

Meditation was a key attribute to maintaining one's connection to the Force; that was becoming his mantra lately, and many an afternoon, Ben would sit cross-legged with his eyes screwed shut until Luke couldn't stand his frustration. Which took a while, usually.

Still, he kept at it, determined to keep his powers in check despite their visit. Finally, when he'd had enough, he exhaled and dropped form.

He stepped to the carpeted floor and returned to his mother's office, where Leia herself was sitting in the outer compartment. Uncle Luke, no doubt, was out somewhere in the city.

"Ben, dear, you didn't happen to see a man and a young girl outside, did you?"

"No," he flopped into the chair across from her, beginning to feel cabin fever setting in. One whole day he'd been here. Crack of dawn to now.

"Leia sighed and leaned back in her chair to mimic her son. "I'll comm the secretary if they don't show in another five minutes."

"Who are you waiting for?"

"A man came in with a letter of recommendation from Queen Elia of Naboo," She told him, absently restacking the tower of coasters next to her. "He had a young girl with him, the secretary said about ten or eleven. I'm not sure what they'd want with me, but the letter," She shook her head, then looked to her son. "The Queen doesn't give those out without reason."

"Are you saying it might have been important?" He pressed, leaning forward. This sounded like a mission. A mission fit for a Jedi. Or a padawan, at least. Leia gave him an odd look.

"You're awfully interested in this."

He feigned innocence. "I want to hear about what you're doing. I could go back out."

"No, stay." She waved a hand. "I don't like the idea of you wandering around the grounds causing trouble."

"I don't cause trouble," She gave him a stern look. "Much," He sat and began to fidget.

"I'm sure they might be lost," She finally sighed. "We use droids for everything else here, but escort droids aren't something we can manage, apparently."

"That sounds like a job for a Jedi," He straightened out so his upper body occupied the seat of the chair.

"Too bad you aren't a Jedi."

"Almost," He protested.

"Sit up, Ben, this is a place of business."

"But I'm bored."

"You've been here five minutes." He made a sound like a dying nerf. "Ben, you are fifteen years old." Another dead nerf. "Stop that."

"Motherrr," he rolled onto his stomach, his hair mussed and wild. It was shaved in the traditional fashion, Luke's request at the beginning of his training, pronouncing his big ears and the skinny braid over his right shoulder stood out starkly against the white rug.

Finally she cracked. "Get out of here," she waved her hands out as if shooing him away and he leapt to his feet. "Stay on the grounds, please."

He left and rode the lift down to the lobby, then strode through as whispers collected in his wake, touching on his hearing. He pretended not to hear any of it, though his pride basked as though it were sunshine.

"Senator Organa's boy!"

"One of those Jedi."

"Mysterious blood there. Scandalous, I'd say."

"Bit of an odd boy."

He scowled at this but continued outside to where the Senate's various visitors and workforces were beginning to disappear back into the city. The horizon was well hidden behind the skyscrapers, leaving sunsets to the imagination but turning the heavens above a tangerine and flame color. It was still warm. The heat of the air could be felt in the padawan's nostrils. He left to the rotunda, empty and guarded by security but still beautiful from the outside. Sleek statues of every medium kept a sentric vigil further out, high and proud as they may have been when they were still alive. He read the placards as he curved around it, names he knew from his parents' war stories or from history lessons at the temple. Ben completed one rotation and headed back to the office complex, not intending to return back but to keep to the various garden plots. He said hello to Varish Vickley, a friend of his mother's, and paused on a bench to stall going back to his office, where they would surely be for another hour before leaving to home.

He braced his hands on the metal, warm from the sun, and bowed his head, eyes closed.

Deep breaths.

Maybe he'd finally be able to meditate for a bit, at least for today. He inhaled and pictured his lungs and ribcage expanding. When he exhaled, Ben felt his thoughts begin to float away.

 _Finally…_

And then someone touched his nose. A little surprised, he jumped back and hit both elbows on the backrest.

"Ow," he muttered and rubbed them as if to siphon the pain out. He glance up. Twilight. He'd done it. For more than five minutes, he'd been able to meditate. Like Uncle Luke. Like the Jedis of old.

"Sorry," the apology was followed by an amused giggle. He looked at what was standing in front of him with annoyance. A girl with dark skin and wild wavy hair stood before him with her jade eyes brimming full of amusement. "I didn't mean to scare you."

"You didn't scare me," He said immediately, not dropping his irritated expression. Usually when he glared like that it was enough to put off anyone. Finally, Finally! He had achieved mental clarity like Uncle Luke had talked about and she'd ruined it. But she held fast.

"I saw you earlier," She continued. "On the fountain in that building." She pointed up at the office complex, where Ben's mother and many of the other senators had their offices. "I wanted to tell you hello."

"You?" He hadn't meant it to come out so mirthful and condescending, but it had, and the girl's sadness hit him like a wall. She stepped away. He rushed to fix it. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean it like that, I swear," he caught her wrists, the contact making his hands tingle. "Uh," Ben wracked his brain. No words. He'd hurt this girl and now he had no way to vocalize his regret, except, "Hello." She looked less upset. He let go of her wrists and she brought them up to her chest, arms crossing her collarbone. "Hello," He said again. "My name is Ben."

She opened her mouth to tell him hers, but a man's spoke it for her. "Savita!" She whirled at the mention, and not far off Ben could see a dark skinned man like her-probably her father-and a young woman who might have been her mother. But she was dressed so elegantly. And this girl and the man…like travelers. Like ship workers. Like his father. "It's time to go."

Perhaps they were going on a trip. The girl turned back to him. "Hello, Ben. I'll be here for a few days before I leave," She told him. Or maybe stopping by for a few days? But she had the type of face that belonged with gold and fine things that he'd never touch. She was definitely of an Elder House. Nobility at the very least. "Will you?"

"Yes," He said. "By the fountain."

"By the fountain," She repeated.

"Savita," The man was closer and more insistent. She gravitated toward him.

"Bye," she waved and he found himself mimicking the gesture, a small smile at his lips.

 _Savita._

As the pair disappeared toward the gates and the woman returned to the office complex where his mother had hers, the girl turned and waved to him again, on final time.

Ben waved back.

* * *

"A closet."

"Don't be stupid," Savita handed Kylo her bag and stepped forward. The door was old, at least twenty years, with faded letters that read, "Staff Supply". And it was made of wood. Actual wood. No automatic hinges or sliding component, but an actual wood, bolt, and rusty hinged door. She seized the knob and with all of her weight, leaned back to it ripped open with a painful crack and an audible creak. "It's inside the closet."

Kylo looked at her like she was crazy, but handed her back her bag when she reached for it and watched while she dug through for a torch. He complied when she motioned for him to walk into the closet. And he stood still and silent when she pulled it shut behind them.

"Hope you're not afraid of the dark," Savita joked, and Kylo snorted indignantly. She switched on the torch. The stone shelves had long since seen use and held no more than a thick layer of dust and a few cobwebs, so old that even their tenants had deserted to seek newer territory. But the dust had disturbances. Smudges and handprints marked the shelves, all the way up to the top. Without another word, Savita began to climb, feet scraping loose pebbles and the torch's beam swinging in wild arcs toward the ceiling. "Ready for another history lesson?" She asked over one shoulder. "Just kidding, I'm telling you anyway. The Coliseum's ancient. It's the oldest standing structure on Reddiqa, predating electricity. Like, back when they used flaming torches at night and lit stagelights with strikers," She sat on the top shelf while Kylo climbed and listened with her feet hanging off. When his hand touched the shelf she sat on, she pulled her legs up. "And back then, the lights all along the Coliseum's walls had to be lit and tended by a wickchild, who went along before and during the show lighting all of the little candles and torches along the top most walls. You know those ornamental tracks they have in the ring, all along the walls and in the house, leading straight to the ceiling? The curve?"

"I think so," He said. Savita spun the torch straight into the mouth of a round tunnel that disappeared into blackness.

"They used to have a purpose," She grinned, shouldered her backpack, and settled onto her hands and knees. "Follow me." Into the tunnel they went, following its hollow shape in a gentle slope upward. It curved slowly, and Kylo's shoulders brushed the sides as he followed Savita. She glance back every now and again to make sure he was still with her. "Sorry if it's a tight squeeze for you. They called the job 'wickchild' for a reason, I guess."

"How'd you find this?" He asked.

"I've been here for nine years, Ben. Without West, there's not much to do."

"Do you and West do everything together?"

"Mostly everything. He doesn't know about this," She paused for a beat and gestured to the tunnel. "But I don't keep a lot from him."

"He doesn't know about this," He said, equal parts question and statement.

"Because West doesn't like you," She told him matter-of-factly.

"That's comforting," He replied, noting that some things would probably never change. But that didn't matter. West didn't have to like him. Savita did.

"It's alright," The tunnel veered sharply to the left. Light was faintly showing, so she turned off the torch. "West hardly likes anyone."

Up ahead, a circle of light made Kylo squint.

 _Ben…_

He froze.

"Did you say something?"

"No," she stopped and looked at him over his shoulder. "Why?"

"I thought...nevermind. Keep going."

Savita processed this, then said, "Okay," and started crawling again, closer to the end of the tunnel. To Kylo, it had a hypnotic quality, making the tunnel seem like it was rolling. His hands hit the sides of the walls.

 _Ben…_

The light pressed in on his eyes. He shut them, but it was still there, only this time it had a face, unidentifiable and intent on him. He recoiled, opened his eyes, but the face was still there behind Savita's shoulder.

 _Hello, Ben..._

"Ben?" She had turned to look at him. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah," A lie. He wiped the dust and grit from his hands and pressed the heels into his eyes, willing it to go away.

"Sure?" Savita's voice and the other one combined, and when he yanked his hands away the face was there before Savita, with hands that clasped his face. His head swam, and he groaned. It was warm and cold at the same time, pressing in on his cheekbones as a headache broke open like an egg in his brain.

 _Come back to me…_

"Ben!" He fell back. The light faded, the tunnel's shadows settling back into place, and he let one last moan escape his lips before his train of thought stopped working.

Kylo woke up in the medical bay with Savita in a chair next to him.

"Happy nighttime," She said to him. "Feel okay?"

"I think so."

"Hey next time you pass out on me, can you maybe do it before we climb all the way to the top of the Coliseum? You're heavy."

"What?"

"I dragged you out of the tunnels and all the way down to here. Like full on dragged you."

"Excuse me?" He was starting to wake up. He sat up, which caused Savita to make a face.

"You heard me," She sat back. "Medic says you're okay. Normal brain activity and all that; he's doing some last minute scans to make sure you'll be okay to fight tomorrow."

"You dragged me all the way here?"

"Oh, I dropped you a couple of times," she seemed proud of this. "But you were gone, friend. I thought you died for a minute." Ben snorted at this. "What happened?"

"What?"

"You choked out right as we got there. You got bloodburn or something?"

"No," He shook his head. "No, I don't have bloodburn."

"So what happened then?"

"I…just got dizzy, I guess. I don't really know either."

"Okay," Savita nodded. "Tell that to the medic then. And I'd appreciate it if he didn't know we were up in the tunnels. They're not exactly something that's supposed to be around, if you get my meaning."

"What did you tell him?" Kylo took a quick glance around but found no one in the room save them.

"I told him we were walking back from dinner and you passed out in the upper levels. They checked your blood alcohol level and ran it under drug tests right away in case someone roofied you. I knew you hadn't, though. That's happened to me before, I know the signs."

"Someone gave you rohypnol?"

"There's some crazy ass people in this Galaxy," Savita shrugged. "I guess some guy decided he liked me too much. You don't even want to know what West did to him."

"I'm not sure I do," Kylo decided. The door chimed and whizzed open, letting the medic and a droid in.

"Awake already?" He checked his timepiece. "No matter. Your scans are normal," He checked his blood pressure and shined a light in his eyes, performed standard checkup procedures while he prattled on about what Savita had already told him. He pelted him with questions, inquired about his recent activities, and then, "Have you been sexually active?"

Savita snickered from her chair. When he answered "no", the giggling was reduced to a coy smirk.

"I implore you to be honest," the man said, peering over his glasses, and he felt inclined to deck him. The princess behind him, meanwhile, was silently laughing.

"I am not...sexually active," He suppressed rolling his eyes, both at Savita and having to utter such a phrase.

"Very well," the medic filed this in his datapad and detached the IV in his arm. "Is like to keep you overnight to monitor you, if that's alright."

"It's not," Kylo replied, rather insistent.

"Unfortunately, I must insist, what with your upcoming match. Please make yourself comfortable. And perhaps I should order a cot for your...companion?"

"That won't be necessary," Kylo's companion interjected from her chair. "I'll just stay until he falls asleep."

"Of course," The medic bowed his head slightly. "Call if you need anything."

"We will." Savita was cheery, watching him go, then turned on the wallscreen where the matches were broadcasting. She scooted her chair closer. "So, Mr. Not Sexually Active, I packed snacks for us. What are you into? I have apples, grapes, Reddiqan brown bread, juice boxes, roasted palmbird sandwiches-"

"Did you say juice boxes?" She looked up and grinned.

"Terrahitian lemonade. Not as good as the homemade stuff, but decent."

"What are we, five?" He meant it in all seriousness, but Savita took it as a joke.

"I was thinking eight, actually. Still cool enough to have one, but on the threshold of graduating to having juice in a glass. Here." She handed him one and he accepted it without argument. A few minutes later, Savita had food spread out on his bed, both of them nibbling while they watched the night's matches. "Are you nervous?" She asked.

"No."

"Not at all?"

"Not even a little. It's just a fight."

"Been in plenty in your day, eh, tough guy?"

"I'm still in my day," He told her. They held eye contact for a moment, his stoic defiance and hers teasing curiosity.

"We'll see," She finally said, bringing the straw to her mouth.

"We'll see?" He sat up, sending an apple rolling off the side of the bed. Savita jerked forward and caught it.

"I haven't seen you fight yet. So yes, we'll see just how 'in your day' you are."

"What makes you think you're qualified to judge that sort of thing?" His voice was edging into hostility. Savita noticed and was quick to defend.

"I've been here for eight years, Ben."

"So what? That's all you know is the drama of a staged fight, isn't it?"

"Woah," SHe narrowed her eyes. "Where's this coming from?"

"You see a sword or a knife and you don't even think of the true consequences of what would happen if one of your friends followed through and cut their opponent's throat open. I bet you've never even seen something like that, let alone thought about it. I bet you never seen someone die."

She didn't reply, only stared, as if Kylo had something wrong with him.

"I'm right aren't I?" Silence. He kept going. "You have no idea what I'm capable of, sweetheart. You have no idea what the Galaxy's capable of, what real killers can do with a mace like that," He pointed to the wallscreen, where two men with a mace and a barbed whip where going head to head. "And you certainly have no idea what it's like to see someone's lights go out with your own eyes or to find a body with no pulse in its neck. So don't lecture me about 'we'll see'. We'll see how your judgement changes when you have to hold a weapon with the intent to kill." Without a word, Savita rose and started to leave. "Have a nice night."

She turned and wound up with her left arm, then hurled the apple straight at his head with absolute fury in her eyes. He dodged it and it exploded on the wall behind him. With that, she gave him one final steely glare and left him in the medbay alone.

* * *

The night Ben's father returned always meant dinner out on the town. Always different and never fancy, Leia would take him, Han, Luke, and Chewie to some dive she'd found and it would always taste good, leaving Ben with an immeasurable list of food options to order when he did visit. Tonight's was a Galactic noodle kitchen with outdoor seating, which they took full advantage of. It was small, cuboid, with a laundromat to its right and a hotel to its left and above it. Ben stirred his bowl quietly while his parents talked, surrendering it to Chewie when he'd had enough participating when prompted.

But honestly? Ben loved this part. He loved his father and his high stakes lifestyle, even now that he'd stepped away from smuggling. The near misses and tales of derring-do were what he aspired to one day achieve, and he imagined himself older and telling Han all of his adventures in the Galaxy as a Jedi. But the training Ben took on with Uncle Luke could hold no candles to the stories his father brought home.

It was what gave him his edge, encouraged him to keep up with his studies so, one day, he could be just like his dad. He'd seen images of his father when he had been young-the handsome, rugged smuggler from Corellia. He'd silvered and wrinkled slightly, but it was still there. Han Solo was everything Ben wanted to be in life, a balls to the wall, fast-paced, jack of all trades with enough charm and mystery to land someone as stunning as his mother- not that he thought about that much, though. Still, he'd seen images of her back in her day.

Someone as stunning, maybe, as that girl. Savita.

She had been pretty.

And he told his dad so.

"I met a girl today," He said out loud. The table silenced. Ben made eye contact with no one and he felt his face burning.

Chewie growled in an almost teasing way.

"I knew you looked shellshocked," Leia said to her bowl.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Ben asked.

"Nothing," She replied. "Except that it must have been some girl because you couldn't tell left from right when you came back to my office."

"Mother!"

"What kind of girl?" Han took a sip of his drink.

"A human girl."

"From?"

"I'll…" He straightened, remembering what she had said to him earlier. "I'll tell you tomorrow."

"Wooah!" Han leaned back and grinned. Luke raised an eyebrow.

"What's going on?" The Jedi looked to every member of the table, but Han supplied.

"Benny boy's got a date."

"Oh," he said slowly, dipping his spoon back into his half-finished bowl. "I see."

"And you met her on the Senate grounds," Leia chimed in. "Meaning she's affiliated with them in some way. Did you see who she was with?"

Ben describe her parents and she nodded. "I can't say I can match them to anyone I know," the Senator said. "What was her name?"

"Savita."

"Exotic."

"Han!" She glared. "I don't recognize the name, Ben. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. I'll see her tomorrow."

And the conversation drifted. It was way into the night and Ben was beginning to feel drowsy, laying at the table rather than sitting, and his attention turned to the passerby. Despite the hour, people still filled the streets. They ignored the dividing lines and meshed into a heavy throng, a pair of sentient rivers mashing together and fighting the other to pass by. A group of Twi'lek women filtered through like a colourful school of fish, ogled by three human men and a Torgruta. A Zabrak man passed through quickly, deftly darting through the throng with almost practiced precision. Fascinated, he nearly missed the human woman shouldering her way through, Amazonian in size and build, carrying a young girl that-oh, but it couldn't-resembled Savita.

He leaned over for a better look. It definitely looked like her. But this girl was in pajamas. And she looked unconscious, but the wrong kind of unconscious. 'Something's wrong' unconscious, not asleep. And judging by the way she was walking, it was medical.

Why didn't she just call an ambulance? Ben narrowed his eyes. And then he saw it. A man literally throwing people aside and heading straight toward the woman. Her father. The woman turned and saw him too, started running, and right then, Ben realized he was witnessing a kidnapping attempt.

There was no time to waste. With no warning, he was out of his seat and over the railing, plunging directly into the pedestrians to tail the woman. He kept low so he had surprise on his side. All of his family were calling after him, Luke the loudest of all in his head, but he tuned them out and focused on weaving through the nightlife until he we right on top of the woman. She saw him, a preternatural sense that caused her to speed up considerably.

 _'She was holding back,'_ Ben observed and lengthened his strides to a sprint. They approached a bridge. She shot almost straight across it, then at the last second veered to the edge and jumped. Ben slammed on the brakes it the edge and watched her fall, landing on her feet in s deep lunge.

"What are you?" He murmured, hands braced on the chilling stone. The woman wasted no time putting him behind her. She moved Savita so she was over one shoulder and took off, the foot traffic slightly less busy than the main artery Ben currently stood on. Which reminded him-he was losing her.

He eased one leg over...and almost jumped out of his skin when the man leapt off the bridge with zero hesitation, caught the fabric cover of a tiny cafe below, and dropped to the ground running. Ben had never been more impressed. What he wouldn't give to have form like that. He'd get it one day. For now, Ben slipped to the ground from the bridge and landed in a crouch that still made his knees protest a little. So much for the force jump he'd been practicing. He raced to catch up. He could see the man up ahead, dodging sentient after sentient in his quest to run the kidnapper down and followed his path, improvising a little as the conditions changed. He took a corner at breakneck speeds with Ben right behind him. The building began to lower, less skyscraper and more under the classification of building, an older district with more artistic architecture and offhangings. The smell of incense and spice permeated Ben's nostrils. This was not a good part of town to be in right now. But he had a mission. Savita's father began to move closer to the side of the road, and it wasn't until he was executing his next maneuver that Ben understood what he was doing.

The man jumped from a metal transport crate to a lantern hanger, vaulting off of that to a wide window ledge and scratching up to wall to the flat rooftop in an admirable fashion that Ben had to slow down and admire. Now free of any obstructions, he shot from roof to roof after the woman, keeping his eyes on a swivel for obstacles in front of him and the kidnapper's position below. Ben was quick to follow.

Crate, swing from the hanger, window ledge, and…it took him two tries to scramble up to the roof, but he did it and pause for a single moment to catch his breath. Then he was hot on the trail, flying across the buildings in a way that pumped enough adrenaline in his veins to make him near passing out. A laugh escaped his lips.

By all the gods in the Galaxy, this was fun! If he ever caught up to Savita's father, he'd have to beg him to teach him all of this. It wasn't until the dark-skinned man had to practically run up the wall of the next building that he realized the buildings were getting high. He mimicked the run perfectly, struggling to pull himself up, but managing all the same, then stopped as he looked at the building that loomed high above him.

"No way," He breathed, but the man was closing on the far left corner of the roof with no sign of stopping. He jumped, arms spread in a perfect swan dive, and disappeared over the edge. Ben sat dumbfounded. "What?" He jogged to the edge. The man was nowhere to be seen below, a fast moving current of people blocking the ground. His shoulders sagged. He'd lost them. Ben stepped away.

There was a commotion behind him, and when he turned, he saw a group of security guards armed with blasters pouring out of the door to the roof. They advanced on him. Instinctively, Ben threw his hands up in surrender.

"Stay where you are," One shouted, breaking free of the pack. A couple stayed behind and held aim on him from a fixed position. "Do you have any weapons?"

"No."

"Search him," gloved hands patted down his skinny body and came up clean.

"My name is Ben Solo," he started. "My mother is Senator Leia Organa and she-"

"A little far from home, aren't we, Ben Solo?" The security guard interrupted. She holstered her blaster. "Wanna tell me how you got up here?"

"I-" He paused. "I was chasing a kidnapper."

"Guess he got away?" She reached into a pocket for standard grade handcuffs. "Too bad. Maybe next time you'll contact us so that doesn't happen."

"Ma'am, there's no need for those," he stepped away. "If you just contact my mother, Senator Leia-"

"Senator Leia Organa," the guard slipped behind him and caught his wrists in the metal shackles. "Can pick you up at the Residential District Police Department as soon as you call her yourself. Let's go, vigilante."

* * *

Savita came to in a shaky, fuzzy world full of pain. She felt as if she had been hung like a towel and was being jostled wildly, she suddenly discovered, on someone's shoulder. And it was not Westerly's. Westerly didn't have pants like that.

She moaned and protested, but stopped when it hurt to much to even blink. She was having trouble moving her fingers, like she'd slower on both of her arms until they too had fallen asleep. Thankfully it was dark. She wouldn't know what to do if-OH!

She was thrown into a chair and a light above her clicked on, making her cringe and try to shuffle away, but it was so hard to do. She couldn't move her head at all. And her eyeballs felt like they were melting. She could hear her brain activity, but around it were pieces of conversation that made no sense.

"-gave her too much."

"-like a gorilla, that guy is."

"-lost him just before I got here."

"-worth a damn fortune. Maybe we could-"

"-paid too much to deviate even-"

"The lady wants her head."

"Gross."

Savita exhaled and tried moving again, but it made no difference. She felt like she might be sick. The pounding in her head was sharp like a knife, but her hearing was getting better.

"I'm just not sure about this, Tam. We've never killed kids before."

"First time for everything."

An exhale. "I think maybe we should have asked more questions is all."

"Like what?"

"Well who she is, first of all. And why she wants her killed like...like…"

"You're so soft. If it bothers you so much, I'll do it."

"Do we even have a knife big enough?"

"Cack!"

"Tam?"

"Urgghhh." There was a commotion and Savita tried opening her eyes again, managing a blurry picture of the room in front of her. Two people...no, three, were in the midst of a knife fight. And two were losing badly. The first one was down in a puddle of red paint, facedown and away from Savita. The second was firing a blaster wildly around the room. The bolts ricocheted off every surface, skimming the other person's arm at one point so he cried out in pain. But he kept coming, breaking into a sprint and knocking the blaster from his hands, putting him in a headlock.

"Please," his breath was short and rapid as he began to realize his fate. The other man's knife was angled straight into his jugular. If either of them sneezed, the knife was going in.

"Please what?" Savita recognized the voice. "You can't honestly think I'm going spare you."

"West," she whispered.

"I was trying to talk her out of it," He said. "I didn't want to hurt her. I didn't know it was a little girl, please!" The knife pressed deeper in. He could feel it, the exact amount of skin and membrane and organ he had between the knife's tip and death. "I didn't know."

West exhaled. And he removed the knife. The man breathed a sigh of relief. "I guess you made a mistake," He said evenly. He rested his knife hand on his head.

"Yeah," he agreed anxiously. "A mistake. And I won't do it again."

"Wrong," West told him. "You shouldn't have done it to begin with." And before the man could say another word, he twisted his head until the spinal column could pivot no more and snapped.


	6. Chapter 6

_A/N: It's been months. I know. And I'm not great at keeping promises, I know. School's rough, but it's Priority #1, so I'm sorry. This is a short chapter, but the next one will be long, I promise. I'm trying to get back into the swing of things on here. Thank you so much for all of the follows, favorites, and reviews, they are literally the world to me. Please enjoy. I swear I will have the next chapter up within the week._

 _Love you all._

 _-WW M_

* * *

Savita took the long way back to her room. To avoid West, she told herself, but also because she had been fuming, absolutely _fuming_ over what Ben had said to her….well, _at_ her.

What a _douche._

Every ounce of her seethed over his reaction, how patronizing he'd sounded. How arrogant. He'd been pleasant, kind, accommodating before, a friend, even. But that? That was the self absorbed, high and mighty gladiator personalities she hated.

Setting her aside as if she knew nothing. As if nine years in the ring had given her little education or supplement.

 _Boy,_ she thought as she stalked down the halls. _Does he not know any better._

Within that very hour following her attempted kidnapping, they'd fled to the Mid Rim and West had taught her the things he'd done in that warehouse. She remembered him tilting his head to the side and touching a groove along his neck with his knife.

"The jugular," he told her. "Fit a knife in there and slash straight down," He brought the knife down for effect. "And it's an ensured death."

Savita had watched in silent horror.

"Now, different species have hearts in different places or multiple hearts, but a human's heart," He'd pointed with a thumb just left of his sternum. "Right here. No coming back from that."

She had been so shocked to learn how many different ways West knew. How easy it was. He was no longer her protective guard, her teacher, but a cold-blooded killer. Those gold eyes roamed not for curiosity, but calculation.

West taught her everything after that. All the stops were pulled. Everything was a learning opportunity. Survival skills out in the wilderness, how to make a fire, how to hunt. Things unneeded in the heart of civilization. The lessons on how to fight became more brutal, more hand to hand and savage, no longer just a formality but a necessity. Her training with a blaster was scant, but it couldn't be helped. Slowly, slowly, they orbited back toward the Terrahitian System, until they ended up here, on Reddiqa, wiser, older, and weighted with experiences. And after eight years, _eight long years_ , they hadn't moved. Savita liked that; not travelling all the time.

But Ben didn't know that. She clenched her fists at the thought of him, so full of himself and idiotic in his tone, a sneer curling his lips. She had half a mind to march back in there and level him, give him a real concussion to deal wi-

"Out so late?" Savita looked up and saw Riché and her partner from the ring leaning against the wall in a cloudy haze of smoke, then came from her rage-filled stride to a cautious halt. The heat in her blood was cooling slightly. The pair looked psychedelically amused, the sort of laughter associated with a good time or mental hysterics. "Someone might think you're up to something." The smoke dissipated and Savita saw a cigarette in her right hand, balanced elegantly between two fingers. The dark paper suggested Terrahitian origin. She took a breath and the sweet incense from the smoke confirmed it.

"I took someone to the medbay," She replied, sticking her hands in the pockets of her pants. After what she'd just come from, she wasn't about to put up with this. "And someone could say the same thing about you."

"Difference is I haven't done anything," Riché looked right at Savita while she took another drag off the cigarette. Then she brought her gaze down to it. "You're from Terrahi, right? You're too dark to be from anywhere else in this part of the Galaxy."

"Yes I am," Savita wasn't sure if she'd meant that as an insult. "And I didn't sabotage your blades."

"No, of course not," She waved her hand, the smoke from the cigarette's tip marking the trail of her hand. She stepped off the wall and met Savita in the center of the hallway. "It was the chain you broke."

"I didn't-"

"I want a rematch," Riché put the cigarette to her lips and left it there, putting her hands on her hips. "In the practice ring with the staffs. It's legal, I've looked."

"Uh," Savita was a bit taken aback. Not three nights ago, this girl had been threatening West's job, her eye, her _life,_ and now she wanted to duke it out with staffs. If anything, it was suspicious. But Savita saw the sincerity in her eyes, how serious she looked behind the thin veil of smoke, and decided that playing peacekeeper was the best of her options. "Right now?" She asked.

"Unless you have something better to do."

Savita went along with it. Riché's friend came, trailing behind them and retreating to the stands when they entered practice room. Savita selected her own pole, considered getting Riché's for her, then decided against it and waited while she dashed her cigarette.

"Since you yourself are from Terrahi, I want to let you know that Eldris and I were trained by Baron Santall."

The High Baron. Her cousin. Savita was silent, contemplative, thinking over what she'd just said.

Santall would have seen her match. Their match. Did he know she was here? Had he recognized her? It suddenly occurred to Savita that maybe, just maybe, Santall was bringing her down with Alomina. The Riché was a hitman sent to silence her. The pieces fit. Riché's seemingly nonsensical obsession with winning. Her allegiance. The chain. The confrontation with West. And nothing was stopping Riché from beating her to death and leaving her body for a security droid to find. She had chosen a murder weapon so commonplace that they wouldn't suspect it. Hands touched the staffs so often, it would be impossible to get a proper print. Not even a heat signature would be attainable.

"I was trained from a young age by Terrahi's gladiatorial unit of the military," Riché continued, conversational, and jarring to hear her voice without the venom. Savita found herself listening intently. "They hold a selection process based on aptitude, it's part of guard training. And I was told that if I passed, I would one day guard the King himself."

Savita knew all about this. She was privy to most of the secrets of the Royal Guard thanks to West, and she knew that one of the testing points was surviving a year in the Coliseum. A single loss cut you from consideration.

"You're an immigrant," Savita noted. "You're from Aristophane aren't you?"

"My mother is Aristophani," Riché told her. "My father wasTerrahitian. He served the King for many years, and then he died."

"I'm sorry."

"I am too," Bitter notes sprung into her voice. "You want to know how he died? Guarding an heir."

Savita's face twitched. _Alomina._

"The murder," She said. "The princess."

"Yeah," Riché didn't look at Savita but let her contempt show freely. "The princess. You know the Baron Santall presides over the Royal Guard's training as children?"

 _Yes._ "No." This made much more sense. She was safe. Santall hadn't recognized her. Still, Terrahi's involvement in the Coliseum was something West would have definitely considered. Why had he been so compliant to put her in such a vulnerable position? Had he not thought of this?

"He taught me how to fight. He teaches all the candidates. He recommended me personally for the Coliseum a year ahead of my deadline because I was the best. There's no man more loyal to the throne than the High Baron and still people accuse him of...of killing that princess and my father. My own father."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"So you know," The girl glowered, setting her jaw. "So you know what that fight cost me."

Savita nodded, setting her feet for the match, kicking herself for being so unbelievably stupid. All that mattered, now, though, was that Riché didn't know who she was. Santall, threat or not, was oblivious to her location. Her anonymity was uncompromised.

"I believe," Savita finally said, "That you would serve fine as a guard captain."

"Don't speculate over my future," Riché replied and spun the staff. "We came here to duel not become friends."

Savita nodded and raised her staff. It was comforting, at least, that should she ever have to face Santall, should the rumours ever turn to be true, she would stand a chance.

* * *

"Status report," Hux's voice crackled on the other end of the comm link. Kylo Ren sighed and leaned forward. He hated this part.

"Nothing to report."

"You mean to tell me you've had no progress since we last spoke?"

"I have," Kylo replied. "It's just not worth reporting."

"Something's gone wrong, hasn't it?"

"I appreciate your faith in me, General."

"Ren," General Hux made an exasperated noise on the other end of the link. The commlinks they had for this mission were archaic, voice only, typical for Kylo's cover as a traveller. Hologram transmitters would be suspicious. "The Supreme Leader would appreciate at least something," he tried, slowly.

"Our…" He paused, choosing his words carefully. "Relationship...is progressing. She's warming up to me."

"That's all?"

"What more do you want?" Kylo asked. "Should I tell you that she's unbearably nice and an idiot?"

"Careful, Ren. She's royalty."

"That doesn't mean she's smart," Kylo moved from his bed to the chair by the window and began to step into his shoes. "I'm shocked she's survived this long."

"Hm," the link crackled as Hux thought. "She's dependent on her guard then. We found information on him, but it's nothing useful."

"Tell me."

"It's nothing you need to know."

"I want to know."

Crackling audio met his words, then Hux spoke. "We found it through the hospital using the surname you gave me. Westerly Reed had a daughter who died of leukaemia. He divorced his wife shortly afterward." Kylo processes this. "Like I said, it's not of any use."

"It explains a few things, at least."

"Like?"

"Like why he took the mission. It explains why Savita's been alive so long. It explains…" He paused. "Leukaemia, you said?"

"Terminal illness, according to the file. They couldn't do anything to help her. Ren, is there something I ought to know?"

"No." Once more, Hux answered him with silence. Kylo took the time to look out his window at the gathering Autumn storm, one of many, he's deduced. "The princess and her guard have a familial relationship. I'd be willing to bet once we bring her back to Terrahi that she won't have a great relationship with her parents."

"Would you?"

"I didn't, no." General Hux must have realized his misstep because he cleared his throat noisily. "And I think that may be an issue when we challenge Santall."

"That reminds me," Hux put an urgent inflection into his voice. "There's been a riot on Terrahi.

"Was it serious?"

"Do you watch newscasts?" The general was patronizing. "Of course it was serious; people died."

"And how has the King responded?"

"He hasn't. Santall, however, is speaking to the other barons and baronesses for support."

"For what? The King has to die first."

"The rumour is that he plans to appeal to the King for succession."

"And how likely is it that he will comply?"

A pause. "We're working on that."

Kylo snorted. Audibly. This would be so much easier if _he_ were on the _Finalizer_. "Your plan isn't working, is it?"

"I can't work miracles, Ren. We're doing our best to come to an agreement."

Kylo spared him the "I told you so" and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. "I have to go. Good luck with your negotiations."

"Good luck with your honeypotting," Kylo dropped the connection and resisted the urge to crush the comm link in his fist. _The snide bastard._

He stood, took a jacket from its hook and shrugged it on, easing out the the door of his room and taking the nearest flight of stairs down to the ground level. Then it was through a few doors to the streets of the capital, the crisp, fresh smell of oncoming rain exploding in the air. It was morning and the streets were hardly busy, but an air taxi or two would shoot by overhead every now and again and the foot traffic was steadily present. Kylo put his hood up. He jammed his hands in his pockets.

The rain began to fall right as he reached his destination, a newly erected building of hand carved stone, doorless and teeming with sentients. _Filthy_ sentients. Travelling sentients. He fought the urge to recoil.

This was the apostle temple, one of many scattered throughout the Galaxy. Followers of the Jedi, who, though powerless, sought their way of life and beliefs. Brown travelling cloaks and tan boots abounded, and around their necks were what Kylo was searching for: totems.

They were made of natural materials, pieces of wood and stones on cords of plants or leather, each customised to skill level and rank among the apostle castes. He minded his spacing and slipped inside, weaving through the main hall of the temple. Identifiable by the red stones on their totems, Kylo made for a temple caretaker and cleared his throat. The Reddiqan woman took note of his clothing with polite scrutiny.

"Pardon me," He tried in his most velveted voice. "But could you direct me to this temple's lead caretaker?"

She drew herself up from where she had been wiping down a table.

"Master Khotan is meditating," Her eyes, brilliant gold, were hard and sharp.

"I can wait," He forced a toothless smile.

"Then wait." And she swept the table one last time before wandering away.

Kylo narrowed his eyes. He watched her slip through a door, then sat down at the table and looked around. He wasn't blending well. Still he was receiving jaded glances from the apostles around him, double takes and lingering looks that all murmured the same thing: _You don't belong here._

He was inclined to agree. Even a few years ago, alongside his uncle, he would have stuck out here, privy to same odd expressions they gave him. They tolerated his presence, but they weren't comfortable with it.

' _One day you will bask,'_ He thought. ' _I will come here and you will tremble at my sight.'_

He could picture it, him masked and robed in coal, standing above and beyond them. They would murmur his name under their breath, the respect he deserved coming in a way a mouse respected a Nexu; instinct demanded it.

To his surprise, he was joined at his table by a man his age, human and with chestnut hair to his shoulders. A beard hid his face, and beneath it was his totem, splayed proudly across a fresh cocoa robe and a cream undershirt. Something inside Kylo stirred at the sight of it, but his onyx eyes flicked away to meet the man's amber.

"I must say, we don't get many like you," he folded his hands and smiled. "Forgive my insinuation."

"You mean people who repel what you represent," Kylo ventured bluntly.

"Yes," The man nodded. "Nevertheless, how can I be of service?"

Kylo took a moment to comb his emotions, searching for contempt or discomfort. He sensed none and was oddly shocked. Again.

"I have a sister," He lied. "She ran away a few days ago. I thought I might come here to see if she'd decided to join…" He looked around. "Well, this."

"We have many travellers who seek our shelter," the man replied, and braced his hands to stand up. "We also have many runaways. Which is why we work closely with the Missing Sentients Department. If she came here, you would know by now."

"What if we haven't filed a report?" On his look, Kylo added, "This isn't her first time."

The man made and understanding face. He was entertaining it. Good. "I can check our registry. If she joined she would have signed."

"I would appreciate that."

He followed the man to the second level and a vaguely modern office, where the only data console in the building rested, so out of place and sleek compared to the stone room it sat in that it was very near an anachronism. It winked to life and the man hummed, summoning a search bar and positioning his hands over the keys. "What's her name?"

Kylo simply waved his hand over the man's head and stepped forward to catch his unconscious body. This had to be quick. He slipped the totem off, crammed it into a pocket, and immediately worked on reviving him, drawing his consciousness back to the surface.

It was so easy. The man gasped, His heartbeat quickening and his eyes bulging, the wild brown stare finally falling on Kylo.

"Are you alright?" He feigned concern. "You passed out for a second."

He sat up, then nodded. Then he brought a hand to his head. "Did I hit my head?"

"No," But Kylo knew perfectly well he'd have a headache for the rest of the day. That was the difference between apostles and actual Jedi. Mental fortitude. Part of him still admired that, even about...well, her. The Girl. But he mocked it when regarding the apostles, who clung so desperately to power that wasn't theirs, like children at play. "Are you sure you're okay?"

"I may need to-" He winced. "Go lay down."

"Would it be better if I came back another day?"

"That would be ideal." So Kylo left him in the care of one of the other attendants and retreated with the man's totem furled in one pocket, his mission complete. He had his excuse. He plunged without hesitation into the rain and by the time he made it back to the Coliseum he was soaked through, a touch cold, and leaving puddles in his wake, which he ignored.

After trading out his wet clothes, Kylo started to look for Savita, casually, taking care of errand while he looked. When he finally found her she was nursing more bruises that when he'd last seen, jacketless despite the chill in the halls. Her arms were folded around herself like a straightjacket. She leaned against a wall, anchored by her heels, and her upturned face was halfway between somber and distraught.

Kylo reached into his pocket, touched the beads of the necklace, and a weight settled in his heart as he began to pull up his memories of her. The beautiful little girl in the travelling clothes, so rugged and wild and perfectly perfect. He remembered being stunned to find her in front of him, outlined by the setting sun that as so much like a halo. And the days that had followed afterwards…

' _Girls like her don't end up with boys like you.'_

Kylo Ren bit the inside of is cheek. The warmth dissipated.

"I want to apologize," he began, and his hand closed around the totem. His lie. Savita opened her eyes, dull, slightly unfocused, and when she realized who was talking, they flashed with contempt.

"Why bother?" The remark was meant to be cutting, but the emotion in her voice reduced it to a cracked and pathetic mutter. "You'll just continue being an ass anyway."

"Are you okay?" He didn't know what else to say. She stared a moment before answering.

"That isn't any of your business, is it?"

"No," He decided. The warmth as coming back, uncomfortable and unwelcome. _That's enough._

He pulled out the totem. She drew her gaze to it in vague recognition.

"You were an apostle," she finally said.

"I was a caretaker on Hosnian Prime. But before that, I got my start on Coruscant and travelled with their chapter. They work...differently from the others. They saw themselves as more of a militia than a peacekeeping group. Altercations between us and other parties were hardly without blood and I...I've done a lot I'm not proud of." As he went on, he realized that more and more of it was beginning to take on truth. The shame and the anger. He was so close to not lying any longer that it practically hurt.

"I've done terrible things, Savita," He tucked the totem away. He'd find time to return it later. "And I knew what I was doing when I did them. I came here to get a fresh start. And I-" His voice caught. The padawans on Coruscant. The knights to be who never made it. Prisoners, sentients who had families they'd never see again, Lor San Tekka, Resistance soldiers, _his father._ It was as if he were watching the lights die from their eyes at once.

"You've killed people." Her voice was even, and it interrupted his thoughts. He blinked in surprise, then nodded. This, at least, was not a lie.

"Yeah. I've killed people."

"Are you proud of it?" She asked. She kept the same, almost tire expression that was centered in her eyes. He searched them hungrily. If only she'd found him sooner. Maybe...no. That sort of thinking wasn't welcome. He banished it and set his jaw.

"No." It was not entirely a lie. He watched her shiver from the cold. He felt himself rotate his shoulders back to slip off his jacket, withdraw his arms. Savita realized what he was doing.

"You don't have to. I'm gonna go back to my room to get one."

"So wear this one in the meantime," He held it out, insistent.

"I believe I'm supposed to be the one offering you my favor, sir knight," Savita cracked a smile. Awkwardly, Kylo looked away, then tucked the jacket into her arms.

"I'll see you later," He said quickly and began to stalk away.

"Woah, wait," Savita tilted forward, caught his wrist, and Kylo panicked, whirling around.

"Fine, if you don't want the jacket-"

"Ben." He was still hold his wrist, her fingers cold like ice. He looked back her. He was so far out of his comfort zone, so crazily close to the light that he was truly terrified. This wasn't part of the plan. His brain was screaming, the lights were flicking on and off and his mind was whirling so fast he was dizzy. _Remember your training._

 _Hurt._

"I forgive you." Savita told him, then dropped his arm. He felt like he'd been burned.

 _ **Hurt.**_

"Thank you." He could see her processing him in her eyes, noticing the panic and the chao beginning to overflow.

 _HURT._

"Are you okay?"

 _ **NOW.**_

"I have to go." He turned. And he walked as fast as he could without running. And when he got back to his room, he tore is shirt off, ripping the fabric, and opened stitch after stitch until he didn't feel it anymore, until the tug was gone and the blood on his skin reminded him of why he was here.

"Long live the First Order," he whispered, then pulled the emergency kit from under his bed and shakily sewed himself up.

Somewhere on a Star Destroyer, Kylo Ren thought, a certain general was smiling in a told-you-so manner. He was sure of it. Damn prick.


End file.
